imm 


LEISURE     HOURS 


WELLINGTON  C.  WENDELL 


EDITED    BY    HIS    DAUGHTER. 


[PRINTED  FOB  PRIVATE  DISTRIBUTION.] 


^^L 


ALBANY  N.  Y. : 

JOEL    MUNSELL. 

1875. 


TS 


MY    DEAR     MOTHER, 

MRS.  ADDIE  S.  WENDELL, 

AS    A   TOKEN    OF   LOVE, 

THIS 
VOLUME    IS    AFFECTIONATELY 

De&icntcb. 


PREFACE. 


Though  literature  was  not,  with  my  beloved 
father,  a  profession,  the  ensuing  pages  will  bear 
testimony  that  his  brain  was  not  an  idle  one. 
Modest  as  was  his  own  estimate  of  his  abilities, 
he  more  than  once  expressed  a  purpose,  whenever 
the  convenient  time  should  come,  to  gather  his 
published  and  other  written  productions  into  a 
small  printed  volume.  Had  he  lived  to  execute 
this  design,  it  is  not  unlikely  that,  in  the  work  of 
selecting,  he  would  have  cast  aside  some  effusions 
to  which  the  partial  love  and  less  severe  taste  of 
survivors  willingly  accord  a  permanent  place,  side 
by  side  with  the  worthiest  things  that  he  ever 
wrote. 

A  considerable  number  of  the  pieces  which  are 
here  brought  together  have  appeared  in  print  as 
newspaper  contributions.  Some  of  them,  as  occa- 
sion demanded,  were  published  in  other  forms. 
Others  still  were  dashed  off  to  beguile  a  "  lei- 
sure hour,"  or  entertain  a  friend. 

The  fact  of  the  appearance  of  this  unpreten- 
tious volume  is  not  solely  due  to  the  remembered 


vi  PREFACE. 

purpose  noted  above,  nor  yet  to  the  partial  love 
of  an  only  child.  An  instinctive  prompting  would 
of  course  incite  her  to  the  duty  of  gathering 
together  and  arranging,  for  convenience  of  refer- 
ence and  permanent  preservation,  the  written  pro- 
ductions of  the  dear  departed  one.  But  their 
present  embodiment  in  book  form  is  in  great 
measure  the  result  of  the  known  wishes  of  many 
relatives  and  friends. 

Nothing  need  be  claimed  for  the  contents  of 
this  little  volume  on  the  score  of  poetic  merit. 
Few  if  any  of  those  who  see  it  wilt  be  in  the  least 
disposed  to  criticise.  It  will  for  the  most  part  be 
perused  by  loving  friends.  If  merit  there  be, 
these  will  find  it ;  if  faults,  they  will  easily  pardon 
and  forget  them. 

In  the  work  of  selection  and  arrangement,  I 
have  received  valuable  assistance  and  counsel  from 
my  honored  grandfather,  Jacob  Wendell,  Esq. 

Rev.  Rufus  Wendell  has  kindly  supervised  the 
proof  reading,  as  the  sheets  were  passing  through 
the  press,  and  has  also  prepared  the  "  In  Memo- 
riam"  sketches  contained  in  the  volume. 

For  all  assistance  received  in  this  labor  of  love, 
I  wish  to  express  my  sincere  thanks. 

IDA  A.  WENDELL. 

ALBANY,  May  1, 1875. 


WELLINGTON  CLAYTON  WENDELL,  eldest  son  of 
Jacob  and  Margaret  F.  Wendell,  was  born  in 
Fort  Plain,  K  Y.,  on  the  30th  day  of  January, 
1832. 

When  about  seventeen  years  of  age  he  entered 
the  office  of  the  village  paper,  the  Montgomery 
Phoenix,  as  an  apprentice  to  the  printing  busi- 
ness. He  completed  his  apprenticeship  in  due 
course,  and  became  an  excellent  practical  printer. 

He  was  married  February  16,  1852,  to  Miss 
ADELINE  S.  CLOVER,  of  Springfield,  K  Y.,  an 
estimable  lady  of  English  parentage.  IDA  A., 
their  only  child,  was  born  July  14,  1856. 

Early  in  1854,  the  subject  of  this  sketch  asso- 
ciated with  himself  as  partner  a  former  fellow- 
apprentice,  Mr.  Harrison  Stansel,  and  purchased 
the  Phoenix  establishment.  The  firm  at  once 
changed  the  name  of  the  paper,  and  on  March  9, 
1854,  issued  the  first  number  of  the  Mohawk 
Valley  Register.  Mr.  Wendell's  proprietary  con- 
nection with  the  paper  (with  two  successive 
changes  in  the  style  of  the  firm)  continued  until 
May,  1859,  when  he  sold  his  interest  and  removed 
to  Albany.  His  withdrawal  from  the  Register  was 


viii  IN  MEMOEIAM. 

chronicled  by  his  partner,  C.  W.  Webster,  Esq., 
in  the  following  editorial  "  Personal  "  :  — 

"  As  will  be  noticed  by  the  perusal  of  the  following 
card,  Mr.  Wendell,  our  late  partner,  has  disposed  of  his 
property  in  the  office  of  the  Register  to  Mr.  Crounse,  and 
severs  his  pecuniary  interest  in  the  establishment,  with 
the  present  issue.  Mr.  Wendell's  connection  with  the 
paper  dates  from  the  very  first  number,  and  ours  from 
an  early  period  in  the  third  volume.  During  our  part- 
nership, we  have  at  all  times  found  him  an  efficient  co- 
adjutor in  the  department  over  which  he  had  supervision, 
and  feel  that  our  readers  and  patrons  are  in  no  small  de- 
gree indebted  to  him,  not  only  for  the  mechanical  skill 
which  has  at  all  times  been  apparent  in  his  work,  but 
also  for  the  faculty,  often  exercised,  of  selecting  from  the 
mass  of  reading,  for  the  edification  and  entertainment  of 
our  subscribers.  An  intimacy  of  three  years,  in  close 
business  relations,  has  engendered  feelings  which  make 
it  a  source  of  deep  regret  to  have  severed  —  and  in  his 
new  '  voyage/  we  bespeak  for  him  kindly  winds,  a  clear 
sky,  and  every  anticipation  of  a  buoyant  hope.  " 

The  "  Card"  of  Mr.  Wendell,  alluded  to  in  the 
foregoing  kindly  paragraph,  was  as  follows  :  — 

"  With  the  present  number  the  connection  of  the 
undersigned  with  the  Register  ceases;  and  in  parting  com- 
pany with  the  noble  vessel  that  has  borne  us  for  the  past 
five  years,  it  befits  us  to  render  it  due  meed  of  praise  for 
the  gallant  manner  in  which  it  has  out-ridden  many  a 
storm,  withstood  the  bufferings  of  ill-winds  and  high  seas, 
and  moored  us  in  safe  anchorage  at  the  end  of  the  cruise. 
With  right  for  our  compass,  a  desire  to  please  for  our  chart, 


IN  MEMORIAM.  ix 

and  a  good  subscription  list  for  ballast,  the  angry  sea  was 
despoiled  of  its  power,  and  the  voyage  rendered  pleasant. 
As  a  general  thing,  we  have  found  the  winter  of  doubt 
and  anxious  expectancy,  succeeded  by  the  spring-time  of 
pleasant  realization  ;  and  although,  at  times,  despondent 
clouds  would  dart  athwart  our  path,  yet  the  "silver  lin- 
ing" would  buoy  us  up  and  bid  us  be  of  good  cheer. 

It  is  the  province  of  friends  and  patrons  to  render  judg- 
ment, in  our  case,  as  to  duty  done ;  but  few  can  chide  us 
with  not  essaying  to  the  extent  of  our  feeble  power,  to 
fulfil  the  obligations  which  our  position  imposed  upon 
us.  In  our  patrons  we  have  found  many  friends  for  whom 
it  proved  a  pleasure  to  cater,  and  whose  magnanimity, 
beneficence  and  kindly  words  have  often  led  us  to  bright 
oases  in  the  desert  of  life. 

While  it  is  painful  to  part  with  such  friends,  it  is  grati- 
fying to  know  that  we  leave  the  Register  in  able  hands, 
who  will  not  fail  to  make  it  still  more  worthy  of  popular 
favor  and  support.  The  fine  taste  and  sound  judgment 
of  our  partner  will  still  continue  to  be  weekly  reflected  in 
its  columns ;  and  he  will  spare  no  pains  or  labor  to  main- 
tain the  high  character  of  the  paper. 

In  our  successor,  Mr.  Crounse,1  the  friends  of  the  Reg- 
ister will  find  a  gentleman  every  way  worthy  of  their  con- 
fidence and  patronage ;  and  we  trust  that  in  each  of  them 
he  may  find  an  open  heart,  ready  to  give  him  a  cordial 
and  profitable  greeting. 

May  the  Register,  under  its  new  regime,  become  an  oak 
in  the  forest  of  papers,  and  receive  sufficient  of  the 
"  root "  to  render  it  firm  in  integrity,  unswayed  by 


1  Hon.  Lorenzo  Crounse,  who  is  now  (1875)  serving  a  second 
term  as  member  of  Congress  from  Nebraska. 


x  IN  MEMOBIAM. 

partisan  or  sectarian  factions  and  creeds,  and  unawed  by 
the  blustering  of  "  little  giants  ; "  but  may  it  be  resolute 
in  promulgating  riylit  and  truth,  speedy  in  uprooting  error, 
and  zealous  in  maintaining  an  unblemished  reputation. 

With  these  few  remarks,  we  bid  adieu  to  our  friends, 
hoping,  however,  that  in  dissevering  our  hand  from  the 
press,  our  friendship  shall  remain  unbroken  for  the  resi- 
due of  our  lives.  W.  C.  WENDELL.  " 

With  the  exception  of  two  years  spent  in  Phila- 
delphia, Mr.  Wendell,  after  his  removal  from 
Fort  Plain,  resided  in  Albany  to  the  close  of  his 
life. 

The  first  four  years  were  devoted  to  his  trade 
in  the  offices  of  Joel  Munsell,  Esq.,  and  the  Albany 
Evening  Journal. 

In  1863,  he  obtained  a  position  in  the  office  of 
the  Provost  Marshal  General  of  the  State  of  New 
York,  where  he  was  employed  about  two  years. 
Once,  during  the  time,  he  was  sent  to  Wash- 
ington to  adjust  the  accounts  between  the  Albany 
office  and  the  general  government — a  difficult 
service  for  the  satisfactory  performance  of  which 
he  was  handsomely  rewarded.  On  retiring  from 
the  office,  his  chief,  Gen.  Frederick  Townsend,  in 
a  written  paper  voluntarily  given,  testified  in 
most  flattering  terms  to  the  ability  and  fidelity 
with  which  he  had  discharged  the  duties  of  his 
place. 

It  may,  in  this  connection,  be  mentioned  as  un- 
questionable, that  the  piece  entitled  "  The  Soldier's 


Zv  MEMORIAM.  xi 

Bye"  printed  in  this  volume  (pp.  104-106), 
had  its  inspiration  in  the  strong  impulse  to  vol- 
unteer which  was  felt  by  the  author  during  the 
early  part  of  the  war  of  the  rebellion.  His  warmest 
sympathies  were  enlisted  in  behalf  of  his  beloved 
country,  and  it  is  probable  that  but  for  the  counsel 
of  friends  he  would  have  entered  the  army. 

After  leaving  the  Provost  Marshal's  office,  Mr. 
"Wendell  held  positions,  successively,  with  the 
Merchants  Union  Express  Company,  J.  W.  Osborn 
&  Co.,  the  Singer  Sewing  Machine  Company,  and 
"Weed,  Parsons  &  Co.  In  1870,  he  removed  to 
Philadelphia,  where  he  was  for  two  years  associ- 
ated with  Mr.  Frank  Hine  in  the  Sewing  Machine 
business.  In  the  spring  of  1872,  he  returned  to 
Albany  to  accept  the  position  of  bookkeeper  for 
Marshall  &  Wendell,  Pianoforte  manufacturers, 
in  whose  employ  he  continued  to  the  time  of  his 
death. 

Mr.  Wendell's  leisure  hours  were  more  or  less 
occupied  with  the  study  of  inventions,  and  during 
his  lifetime  he  obtained  letters  patent  on  four 
inventions  of  his  own — a  rubber  cushion  slate 
frame,  a  book  cover,  a  door  catch  and  buffer,  and 
a  sewing  machine  box  cover. 

On  Saturday  evening,  November  16,  1872,  Mr. 
Wendell  was  attacked  with  the  illness  which  re- 
sulted in  his  death.  At  the  close  of  the  day's 
business  —  just  after  he  had,  with  voice  and 
instrument,  and  with  much  animation,  been  ex- 
ecuting several  popular  airs  for  the  entertainment 


xii  IN  MEUORIAM. 

of  cousins  who  had  called  on  him — he  repaired  to 
the  barber-shop  of  the  City  Hotel  to  be  shaved 
and  take  a  bath.  While  in  the  bathing-room  he 
had  a  sudden  and  violent  attack  of  spinal  menin- 
gitis. He  was  promptly  removed  in  a  carriage  to 
his  home,  and  medical  aid  was  at  once  summoned. 
After  being  severely  ill  for  four  or  five  days  he 
began  to  improve,  and  on  the  27th  day  of  the 
month  he  had  his  physician's  permission  to  un- 
dertake a  trip  to  Fort  Plain,  in  order  to  be  present 
at  a  Thanksgiving  family-gathering  on  the  follow- 
ing day.  He  stood  the  journey  well,  and  on  the 
28th  participated  with  great  enjoyment  in  the 
festivities  of  Thanksgiving  Day.  On  the  follow- 
ing Monday  (Dec.  2)  he  and  his  daughter  returned 
to  Albany.  He  had  so  far  recovered  that  he  ex- 
pected to  be  able  to  resume  his  duties  in  the 
counting-room  the  next  morning,  and  so  stated 
to  one  of  his  employers  on  his  way  home  from  the 
depot.  That  evening,  however,  he  experienced  a 
violent  recurrence  of  the  attack  by  which  he  had 
been  prostrated  sixteen  days  previously.  His 
wife  returned  home  the  following  day.  His  ill- 
ness was  very  severe;  he  continued  to  grow 
worse;  and  near  the  hour  of  midnight  on  Friday, 
December  6,  1872,  death  put  an  end  to  the  scene. 

A  loving  husband,  a  tender  father,  a  dutiful 
son,  a  warm-hearted  and  faithful  friend,  had 
passed  from  mortal  sight. 

During  the  early  part  of  his  illness  Mr.  Wendell 
assured  his  pastor,  Rev.  Mr.  Hulburd,  that  it  had 


IN  MEMORIAM.  xiii 

long  been  his  habit  to  seek  the  Divine  blessing  in 
prayer ;  referred  with  great  frankness  to  causes 
which  had  kept  him  back  from  such  an  open  re- 
ligious profession  as  he  was  convinced  duty  de- 
manded at  his  hands;  and  expressed  his  firm 
purpose  to  assume  his  proper  relation  to  the 
church  if  his  life  was  spared. 

Already  years  have  elapsed  since  the  hour  of 
sorrowful  separation  chronicled  in  these  para- 
graphs, but  many  hearts  to-day  beat  quicker  at 
the  mention  of  the  name  of  dear  "  Welly."  He 
attached  himself  to  his  friends  with  "  hooks  of 
steel,"  and  his  memory  will  ever  be  most  affec- 
tionately cherished  by  them  all. 

The  subjoined  newspaper  articles  are  given  as 
a  fitting  close  to  our  brief  "In  Memoriam." 
The  "  Family  Gathering,"  described  by  Mr. 
Simms,  is  the  same  that  is  referred  to  in  the 
above  sketch. 


From  the  Canajoharie  RasHi, 

A  FAMILY  GATHERING. 

BY  J.  R.  SIMMS,  ESQ.,  OF  FORT  PLAIN,  N.  Y. 

A  time -honored  custom  of  New  England  has  for  a 
century  gathered  families  together  to  partake  of  a  Thanks- 
giving dinner,  there  being  assembled  around  thesame  table 
(groaning  under  the  weight  of  everything  an  epicure 
could  desire),  not  unfrequently,  the  representatives  of 
three,  and  sometimes  four  generations  in  lineal  descent. 


xiv  IN  MEMOEIAM. 

This  custom  does  not  prevail  to  any  very  great  extent  in 
Dutch  families  ;  but  that  of  Jacob  Wendell,  Esq.,  in  our 
village,  is  an  exception  to  the  rule,  and  whosoever  looked 
into  his  well-ordered  dwelling,  on  Thursday  last,  must 
have  imagined  himself  "  where  the  woodbine  twineth," 
in  some  cozy  house  in  Yankeedom.  There  was  a  family 
gathering  of  parents,  children  and  grand-children,  num- 
bering all  together  some  fifteen  or  twenty  happy  souls. — 
Besides  the  heads  of  the  family,  or  "  Old  Folks  at  Home," 
the  company  embraced  three  married  sons  and  their  fami- 
lies, one  unmarried  son,  and  a  son-in-law  and  family. 
H.  L.  Harter,  Esq.,  who  married  the  youngest  daughter, 
is  a  Professor  in  the  State  Normal  School  at  Potsdam, 
and  his  duties  prevented  that  couple  from  meeting  at  the 
festive  board.  All  the  members  of  the  family  present, 
each  writing  a  sentiment,  sent  on  one  sheet  a  letter  of 
regrets  to  Prof.  Harter  and  wife  for  their  absence  from  the 
circle. 

This  family  has  for  years  observed  this  New  England 
custom  of  getting  as  many  of  its  members  as  possible  at 
the  Thanksgiving  dinner  table  j  but  it  is  very  probable 
this  may  prove  the  last  one  they  will  enjoy  in  this  place 
One  of  the  sons,  Nathan  D.  Wendell,  Esq.,  Cashier  of  the 
Merchants  National  Bank  of  Albany,  has  just  been  elected 
Treasurer  of  Albany  County,  and  it  seems  not  unlikely 
that  he  may  require  his  father's  services  in  the  discharge 
of  his  new  duties.  Nearly  all  the  family  are  singers,  and 
when  they  get  together  the  welkin  rings  with  their  happy 
voices.  We  enjoyed  the  pleasure  on  Thanksgiving  Day, 
of  listening  to  one  of  those  impromptu  concerts.  The  first 
piece  they  sang  was  an  Ode  written  fora  similar  occasion, 
and  first  sung  December  7,  1865.  It  consists  of  five 
stanzas,  with  a  chorus,  and  was  written  by  one  of  the  sons, 


IN  MEMOHIAM.  xv 

W.  Clayton  Wendell,  Esq.,  who  gave  it  the  appropriate 
title  of  "Home.  Home  Again.  Thanksgiving  Day  "  —  set 
to  the  air  "  Ring  the  Bell,  Watchman."  We  here  copy 
the  3d  stanza  and  its  refrain  : — 

Here's  where  the  bright  days  of  childhood's  delight 
Passed  with  no  care  for  the  world's  dreary  night ; 
Here's  where  the  dreams  of  our  youth  still  remain  : 
How  we  love  to  think  of  being  home,  home  again. 

CHORUS. 

Join  the  song,  sister  —  sing,  brother,  sing, 
Loud  let  your  voices  with  thankfulness  ring  ! 
Hark  !  hear  the  echoes,  they  join  the  refrain  — 
"  Happy,  happy  are  we,  for  we're  home,  home  again." 

We  have  seldom  heard  a  piece  better  executed,  than 
was  this  appropriate  Ode,  even  by  amateur  musicians. 
The  family  also  sang, in  excellent  time  and  manner,  quite 
a  number  of  popular  Southern  Ballads,  all  of  which  were 
accompanied  on  a  melodeon  by  the  wife  of  Jacob  Irving 
Wendell,  who  seemed  prepared  to  touch  any  keys  requi- 
site to  their  performance.  It  is  a  great  pleasure  to  wit- 
ness such  a  family  gathering,  but  a  saddening  reflection  to 
think  that  not  even  the  youngest  member  assembled  at 
such  a  joyous  fireside,  will  be  alive  an  hundred  years 
hence. 

Let  them  assemble  in  harmony  all, 

Just  as  by  fiat  of  Death  they  may  fall : 

The  old  and  grown  up,  the  young  and  the  small  ; 

Though  forgotten  by  us  in  Time's  sable  pall ; 

For  gathered  they  will  be  as  God  bids  them  rise 

To  a  Thanksgiving  Supper  prepared  in  the  skies. 


xvi  IN  MRMORIAM. 

From  the  Canajoharie  Radii. 

OBITUARY. 

BY  J.  K.  SIMMS,   ESQ.,  OF  FORT  PLAIN,   N.  T. 

We  are  grieved  to  know  that  death  claims  as  its  victim 
our  young  friend,  Wellington  C.  Wendell,  who  died  at 
his  residence  in  Albany,  on  Friday  night  of  last  week,  at 
the  age  of  forty  years.  He  was  the  eldest  son  of  Jacob 
Wendell,  Esq.,  of  this  village,  at  whose  residence,  as  we 
told  the  readers  of  the  Radii  last  week,  he  was  a  member 
of  the  family  gathering  on  Thanksgiving  Day  of  the  week 
before.  Starting  life  as  a  young  man  of  promise,  he 
learned  the  printer's  trade  of  Levi  S.  Backus,  the  mute 
editor  —  a  trade  which  rapidly  cultivates  the  intellect  of  a 
reflecting  mind.  He  was  for  a  time  engaged  with  C.  W. 
Webster,  Esq.,  in  the  publication  of  our  village  news- 
paper; and  on  disposing  of  his  interest  in  the  concern  he 
removed  to  Albany.  For  several  years  he  was  there 
employed  as  a  practical  printer  in  the  office  of  The  Even- 
ing Journal.  Subsequently  he  went  to  Philadelphia,  to 
serve  as  book-keeper  in  the  establishment  of  Howe's 
Sewing  Machine  Company.  Returning  to  Albany,  he  be- 
came book-keeper  in  the  Piano  house  of  Marshall  and 
Wendell,  in  which  he  was  still  engaged.  That  he  had 
labored  so  long  and  faithfully,  and  not  laid  up  a  fortune 
of  worldly  treasure,  is  not  to  be  attributed  to  a  want  either 
of  ability  or  industry.  Indeed,  he  invented  the  rubber 
slate,  obviating  a  world  of  noise ;  but  we  are  not  aware 
that  the  patent  was  ever  of  much  value  to  him.  With 
good  habits,  good  qualifications,  suavity  of  manners,  and 
industry,  he  failed  to  amass  wealth  —  another  striking 
exemplification  of  the  fact  that  all  are  not  born  to  be 


IN  MEMORIAM.  xvii 

rich.  His  was  a  generous  and  confiding  nature,  and  he 
was  the  most  loved  and  respected  by  those  to  whom  he 
was  the  best  known. 

On  November  16th,  he  was  attacked  with  the  spinal  or 
spotted  fever.  Under  proper  treatment  he  had  so  far  re- 
covered as  to  feel  justified  in  being  at  the  family  gather- 
ing, at  his  paternal  home  in  this  place,  on  Thanksgiving 
Day.  There  were  few  happier  families  assembled  on  that 
occasion  in  the  Mohawk  Valley,  (he  making  one  of  the 
number,)  than  was  that  of  his  father,  Jacob  Wendell, 
Esq.  An  Ode  of  no  little  merit,  prepared  for  the  occasion 
by  this  son,  and  entitled  "  Home,  Home,  Ayain"  we  have 
already  told  your  readers  was  sung  with  fine  effect  on 
Thanksgiving  evening  in  our  hearing,  his  voice  swelling 
the  melody  to  the  close  of  the  last  stanza.  He  returned 
to  Albany  on  Tuesday  of  last  week,  and  early  on  Wednes- 
day morning  his  disease  manifested  itself  anew,  by  a 
violent  pain  in  the  back  of  the  neck.  He  soon  became 
unconscious,  and  with  a  few  lucid  intervals  remained  so 
until  life's  flickering  lamp  went  out,  at  12  o'clock  on 
Friday  night,  when  he  fell  into  that  slumber  which  man 
cannot  disturb,  and  his  spirit,  freed  from  a  tabernacle  of 
flesh,  and  given  a  spiritual  tabernacle,  prepared  by  the 
Great  Architect  who  never  yet  gave  an  illy-fitting  one, 
went  home  as  the  first  of  the  assembled  family  —  to  that 
Thanksgiving  Supper  prepared  in  the  skies.  Thus,  by 
the  wonder-working  and  mysterious  hand  of  Creative 
Wisdom,  has  another  social  and  useful  man  been  cut 
down  in  his  prime,  and  his  friends  and  community  left  to 
Diourn  their  sad  bereavement.  His  funeral,  which  was 
largely  attended,  took  place,  at  the  residence  of  his 
brother,  N.  D.  Wendell,  Esq.,  46  Chestnut  street,  on  Mon- 
day P.  M.,  where  were  assembled  an  unusual  number  of 


xviii  IN  MEMOBJAM. 

friends  and  heart-grieving  mourners ;  the  Rev.  Mr.  Hul- 
burd,  of  the  Hudson  Street  M.  E.  Church,  assisted  by  the 
Rev.  Homer  Eaton,  once  a  pastor  of  our  village  church, 
officiating. 

God  grant  that  the  stricken  widow  and  Miss  Ida  — her 
only  child  —  may,  with  friendship's  warmest  sympathy, 
find  HIM  a  sufficient  support  in  this  their  hour  of  greatest 
need. 


From  the  Albany  Evening  Journal. 

DEATH  OP  W.  C.  WENDELL. 

The  death  of  Mr.  W.  C.  Wendell,  of  this  city,  an- 
nounced on  Saturday,  merits  more  than  passing  notice. 
Several  years  since  he  was  connected  with  the  Evening 
Journal  book  and  job  office,  and  since  then  he  has  filled 
various  responsible  positions  of  a  business  nature.  At 
the  time  of  his  death  he  was  book-keeper  in  the  piano 
house  of  Marshall  &  Wendell.  He  was  a  son  of  Jacob 
Wendell,  of  Fort  Plain,  and  brother  of  Nathan  D.  Wen- 
dell, the  newly  elected  Albany  County  Treasurer  and 
Cashier  of  the  Merchants  Bank.  Mr.  Wendell  pos- 
sessed innumerable  graces  of  character,  and  in  all  the 
relations  of  life  he  invariably  won  the  regard  and  esteem 
of  those  with  whom  he  came  in  contact.  His  attachments 
to  personal  friends  were  characterized  by  much  more  than 
ordinary  warmth  and  sincerity.  His  sudden  death,  in 
the  prime  of  life,  will  be  a  sad  blow  to  his  sorrowing  rela- 
tives, and  will  be  deeply  regretted  by  numerous  friends 
and  acquaintances,  who  will  treasure  the  remembrance  of 
his  honest  worth  and  genial  disposition. 


Zv  MEM  OB i AM.  xix 


From  the  Albany  Sunday  Press. 

WELLINGTON  C.  WENDELL. 

The  sudden  demise  of  this  well-known  citizen,  brother 
of  Cashier  N.  D.  Wendell,  caused  great  regret  among  his 
numerous  friends  and  acquaintances.  He  was  suffering 
from  irritable  condition  of  spine  and  back,  which  gave 
rise  to  severe  neuralgic  pains,  and  appeared  to  have  com- 
pletely recovered.  On  Wednesday,  a  week  ago,  he  went 
to  Fort  Plain  to  be  present  at  a  family  gathering,  and  to 
which  all  members  of  the  family  had  been  invited  by  Mr. 
Wendell's  father.  The  gathering  was  a  very  agreeable 
and  pleasant  one.  On  Tuesday  last,  Mr.  W.  C.  Wendell 
returned  to  his  home  in  this  city.  After  his  return,  he 
had  a  relapse,  but  appeared  to  be  doing  well.  On  Friday 
night,  however,  he  had  an  unexpected  attack  of  apoplexy, 
and  died  a  few  hours  after  of  apoplexy  and  congestion 
of  the  brain. 


From  the  Albany  Knickerbocker. 

SUDDEN  DEATH. 

On  Friday  night  last  Mr.  Wellington  C.  Wendell, 
brother  of  County  Treasurer  Wendell,  died  very  suddenly. 
It  appears  that  a  few  weeks  ago  he  was  suffering  from  an 
irritable  condition  of  the  spine  and  back,  which  gave  rise 
to  severe  neuralgic  pains.  Under  kind  and  skilful  treat- 
ment he  appeared  to  have  recovered.  The  day  preceding 
last  Thanksgiving  he  visited  his  father's  home  at  Fort 
Plain,  to  attend  a  family  gathering  about  the  festive  board 
on  Thanksgiving  Day.  Deceased,  as  well  as  all  others  who 
were  present,  had  an  enjoyable  time,  and  on  Tuesday  last 


xx  IN  MEMORIAM. 

Mr.  W.  C.  Wendell  returned  to  his  home  in  this  city. 
On  his  return  he  had  a  relapse,  and  on  Friday  night  had 
an  unexpected  attack  of  apoplexy,  and  died  in  a  few 
hours.  Apoplexy  and  congestion  of  the  brain  were  the 
immediate  causes  of  death. 


From  the  Albany  Evening  Times. 

THE  FUNERAL  OP  MR.  WENDELL. 

The  funeral  of  the  late  W.  C  Wendell  took  place,  this 
afternoon,  from  the  residence  of  his  brother,  Mr.  N.  D. 
Wendell,  No.  46  Chestnut  street,  and  was  very  largely 
attended  by  the  relatives  and  the  numerous  friends  of  the 
deceased.  Mr.  Wendell's  death  was  rather  unexpected, 
it  being  believed  that  he  had  nearly  recovered  from  his 
recent  indisposition  which  had  confined  him  to  his  room 
for  some  time.  On  Thanksgiving  Day  he  had  assembled 
with  other  members  of  the  family  at  the  old  homestead 
in  Montgomery  county,  and  his  kindly  face  was  bright 
and  joyous  at  the  gathering  again  of  those  who  came  to- 
gether in  such  goodly  numbers.  Upon  his  return  home 
he  was  again  taken  ill,  yet  it  was  supposed  the  sickness 
was  not  dangerous ;  and  all  were  surprised  to  hear  that 
grim  Death  had  laid  his  cold  hand  on  this  genial  gen- 
tleman. 

Mr.  Wendell  was  widely  known  and  as  widely  esteemed ; 
his  good  qualities  were  many,  and  his  disposition  warm 
and  generous;  he  possessed  the  business  integrity  and 
steadiness  characteristic  of  the  Wendell  family,  and  his 
death  will  be  sincerely  mourned  by  all  with  whom  he 
ever  came  in  contact. 


CONTENTS. 


I.  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS  : 

Mother,         

1 

To  day  I'm  thirty-two,    . 

4 

To  Lizzie,     

6 

To  Sister  Luthera,  .... 

7 

ToLibbie,    ...... 

7 

To  Sister  Aurelia,    .... 

8 

To  Little  Ida,       

9 

To  Margaret,   

.      10 

ToLillie,      

11 

To  Libbie  

.      11 

For  a  Friend,      

•     .                   11 

To  Dora  and  Alice  B.,    . 

.      12 

To             " 

13 

To  A  Friend  (two) 

14 

To  A  Friend,  (two),     .        .        .        . 

15 

No  charms  without  Thee, 

.      16 

Never  Forgotten,  .... 

17 

Friendship,      

.      18 

Jennie,          

18 

Do  not  forget,          .... 

.      19 

Think  of  me  yet,  .... 

20 

Golden  Chain 

.      21 

I  choose  to  be  alone,    . 

22 

Think  of  me  Frank 

.      22 

Hoping,        

23 

Wishing,          

.      24 

To  Mollie,    . 

.        .        .          25 

xxii  CONTENTS. 

I.  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS  : 

Awaiting  Thanksgiving, 25 

Home,  Home  Again, 26 

My  absent  Sister, 28 

Days  of  Youth, 29 

His  return, 29 

Christmas  Carol, 30 

A  Thought  for  you 32 

To , 32 

Christmas  Hymn,    , 33 

Sweet  Bye  and  Bye, 34 

Welcome  at  the  Door 35 

Speak  gentle  words 36 

Naked  Truth, 37 

Singing  from  the  heart,        .        .        .    '    .        .  33 

Light, 38 

Spring  Time, 39 

Absent 40 

Searching  for  the  Sea,         ...  .42 

On  a  Lock  of  Hair, 44 

Brooklet, 44 

At  Rest, 45 

Nothing  Lost,       .......  45 

On  the  death  of  Mrs.  Jane  Clover, .        ...  47 

On  the  death  of  Jessie  Tompkins,      .        .        .  48 

Jessie  Asleep, 49 

Lines  written  in  a  Bible,  etc.,     ....  49 

Only  asleep, 50 

Our  Gem  above 51 

Little  Mary  Ann  Carroll, 51 

On  the  death  of  Miss  Ida  Keyes,        ...  52 

Ma,  never  told  a  lie, 53 

The  Chime, 55 

A  year  ago  to-day, 56 

For  an  Album, 58 

Friendship, 59 

A  mother's  gift, 59 

A  Prayer, 60 


CONTENTS.  xxiii 

II.  HUMOBOUS: 

Comfort,  By  Kate  B.  T., 61 

Reply  to  Kate  B.  T 62 

To  Sister  Luthera, 64 

To  Sister  Aurelia, 66 

To  Charles  Wendell, 68 

Keep  Pace  with  the  Times,        ....  71 

I'd  Rather, 73 

Bachelor's  Hall, 74 

A  Bachelor, 76 

A  Lesson  from  the  Glass  Steam  Engine,    .        .  77 

Conquest  of  the  Conqueror, 79 

It's  the  fashion,  Don't  you  Know  ?    .  82 

The  Dollar  mark, 84 

Montowese  Narrows, 85 

Coney  Island, 88 

For  the  fun  of  the  thing, 90 

The  Power  of  Example, 91 

The  Yankee  Pass, 94 

Offer  of  John  Bull  to  Miss  Columbia,    ...  98 

Reply  of  Miss  Columbia  to  John  Bull,       .        .  100 

Acrostic, 102 

Old  Pat  is  Dead,  102 


III.  PATRIOTIC  : 

The  Soldier's  Good  Bye, 104 

The  Dying  Volunteer, 106 

To  Capt.  Nelson  O.  Wendell,     ....  108 

Freedom's  Gift, 110 

What  the  Boys  in  blue  say,        ....  113 
The  Northern  Peace  Makers,         .        .        .        .116 

Welcome  Peace, 118 

The  Return  of  Peace, 119 

Kansas  and  Freedom, 120 

To  the  XLth  Congress, 122 


xxiv  CONTENTS. 

IV.  POLITICAL: 

Match  him, 123 

Marching  Along 126 

When  Grant  goes  marching  in,      .        .        .        .127 

Glory  Hallelujah, 129 

Grant  and  the  Union 130 

Marching  Along, 132 


V.  ADDRESSES  : 

We  greet  you, 133 

Second  Part 134 

Carrier's  Annual  greeting,      .....  137 

Second  Annual  Address, 148 


VI.  APPENDIX,  IN  MEMOBIAM  : 

Capt.  Nelson  O.  Wendell, 151 


POEMS: 

MISCELLANEOUS,    HUMOROUS,    PATRIOTIC, 
AND    POLITICAL. 


I.  MISCELLANEOUS. 

MOTHER. 

I'm  sitting  quite  alone,  Mother, 

All  else  of  busy  life 
Were  wooed  and  won  some  hours  since 

By  sleep,  from  daily  strife ; 
But  Morpheus,  with  his  luring  smile, 

Has  not  a  charm  for  me  — 
My  mind  is  occupied  the  while 

"With  thoughts  of  home  and  thee,  Mother, 

With  thoughts  of  home  and  thee. 

I  thank  the  God  of  light,  Mother, 

For  mem'ry's  lamp,  to  peer 
What,  else,  would  dim  the  retrospect 

Of  our  sojourning  here ; 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

For,  by  the  lurid  ray  that  gleams 

Across  the  mystic  main, 
My  thoughts  revert,  and  then  it  seems 

That  I  am  young  again,  Mother, 

That  I  am  young  again. 


I  hear  your  gentle  voice,  Mother, 

In  earnest  tones  entreat 
That  sin  might  never  chill  my  heart 

Or  gyve  my  tender  feet ; 
How  well  my  life  has  answer'd  those 

Maternal  prayers  of  thine, 
I  leave  to  God,  who,  only,  knows 

What's  in  this  heart  of  mine,  Mother, 

"What's  in  this  heart  of  mine. 

My  lips  so  love  to  dwell,  Mother, 

Upon  that  hallowed  word, 
Whose  music  makes  the  fondest  chord 

Of  heart-emotions,  stirred, 
That  I  am  loth  to  hear  anew 

The  notes  of  matin  bell, 
That  call  my  thoughts  away  from  you, 

On  whom  they  love  to  dwell,  Mother, 

On  whom  they  love  to  dwell. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

About  thy  holy  name,  Mother, 

My  richest  feelings  close 
In  fond  embrace,  that  mocks  to  shame 

The  fire  that  passion  knows ; 
Whate'er  I  do,  where'er  I  rove, 

Thy  name  is  ever  near  — 
0,  'tis  the  bliss  of  life  to  love 

A  name  so  full  of  cheer,  Mother, 

A  name  so  full  of  cheer. 

The  busy  hand  of  time,  Mother, 

Has  left  the  telling  trace 
Of  silver  threads  upon  your  head, 

And  age  upon  your  face ; 
Yet,  though  he  strike  our  hands  apart, 

And  bear  you  from  my  sight, 
You  still  shall  occupy  my  heart 

As  fully  as  to-night,  Mother, 

As  fully  as  to-night. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

T  H  I  K  T  Y-T  W  0. 

[Jan.  30, 1864.] 

To-day  I'm  walking  in  the  paths 

Of  Mein'ry's  blest  retreat : 
To-day  the  Present  and  the  Past 

In  full  fruition  meet. 
In  spirit-rambling  through  the  shades, 

Now  fresh  as  morning  dew, 
I  dream  that  I  am  young  again,  — 

I  know  I'm  thirty-two. 

I  stand  beside  the  stream,  that  rolls 

'Tween  youth  and  riper  years ; 
I  gaze  upon  the  other  shore, 

Unfraught  with  worldly  fears  ; 
Then  glance  adown  the  slope  of  life, 

That  future  holds  in  view, 
And  meditate,  in  earnest  thought, 

"  To-day  I'm  thirty-two." 

Here  stands  a  vow  that  I  have  made ; 

There  lies  a  broken  pledge  ; 
While  just  beyond  lie  buoyant  hopes 

Wrecked  on  misfortune's  ledge : 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Yet  happy  hours  bedeck  the  sky, 
And  let  their  glories  through, 

And  seem  to  join  with  me  in  joy,  — 
To-day  I'm  thirty-two. 

Here  winds  the  path  that  friends  have  trod 

Its  terminus  is  love,  — 
Some  found  the  goal  with  me,  and  some 

Are  registered  above. 
The  rose  of  fond  remembrance  blooms 

In  colors  ever  new, 
And  calls  me  back  to  other  days, 

From  thoughts  of  "  thirty-two." 

'Twas  here,  imagination's  loom 
"Was  reared  upon  the  sand, 
And  warp  and  woof  found  comely  form, 

Beneath  my  plastic  hand. 
But  ah  !  the  future  proved  my  web 

But  gossamer  and  dew,  — 
I've  lived  to  see  them  all  dissolve, 

From  youth  to  thirty-two. 

Behind  me  masks  of  mirth,  and  cloaks, 

Whose  mission  seemed  to  be 
To  place  me  in  another  sphere 

Than  God  designed  for  me  — 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Are  mocking  monuments,  to-day, 

Of  what  I  used  to  do 
Before  I  turned  that  point  of  life, 

That  brought  me  thirty-two. 

Long  since  the  domes  and  minarets 

Of  castles  in  the  air, 
Have  gathered  folly's  moss  about 

Their  ruins  lying  there. 
I  ramble  'mid  the  gloomy  waste, 

And  pledge  my  vow  anew, 
To  build  on  Caution's  corner-stone, 

Henceforth,  from  thirty-two. 


L  I  Z  Z  I  E.  i 

With  eyes  filled  with  tears  —  with  hearts  over- 
flowing — 
"We  have  watched  Lizzie's  journey  through 

sorrow  and  pain. 
While  we  mourn,  there  is  sweet  consolation  in 

knowing, 
She  is  only  asleep  —  we  shall  see  her  again. 


1  Wife  of  Harvey  Wendell,  who  died  June  28, 1861. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


TO     SISTER    LUTHER  A. 

Just  before  the  morning  breaks, 
Nature  wears  its  darkest  frown, 

Dons  the  sable  cloak,  and  makes 
Dismal,  every  thing  around. 

But  the  cheering  rays  of  light, 
Come  at  matin's  blessed  hour, 

Clothe  in  garments  pleasing,  bright 
Nature,  by  its  magic  power. 

Sister  !  so  throughout  our  days 
Darkest  clouds  of  sorrow  pass, 

Just  before  the  promised  rays 
Bring  us  joy  and  happiness. 


TO    LIBBIE. 

Life  would  seem  a  dreary  ocean, 
Isleless,  with  no  port  to  gain, 
But  for  friendship's  star,  Devotion, 
Brightening  the  mystic  main. 
In  thy  journey  o'er  the  sea 
Ever  may  it  beam  on  thee. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


TO    SISTER    AURELIA 

ON  THE  BIRTH  OP  HER  FIRST-BORN  CHILD. 

Sweet  recompense  !  Hope  gemmed  the  night, 
While  Patience  kept  away  Despair ; 

Fruition  gave  to  home  a  light  — 
Love  left  an  angel  there. 

Parental  bliss  !  0  who  can  mete 
But  God,  a  mother's  holy  love ! 

"Who  prove  a  father's  bliss  complete 
But  Father  up  above ! 

Completing  link!  Two  hearts  are  bound 

In  closer  unison  by  thee  — 
A  firmer  chain  is  thrown  around 

Our  weak  humanity. 

O  !  blessed  trust !  Two  little  feet, 
To  trudge  the  way  to  Him  who  gave ; 

Another  heart  to  keep  complete, 
Another  soul  to  save. 

Feb.  12th,  1865. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


LITTLE     ID  A.i 

Just  as  coining  morn  is  weaving 
Bars  of  gold  o'er  hill  and  plain, 

And  in  buried  glory  leaving 
Luna  and  her  twinkling  train, 

Little  eyes  are  sweetly  peering 
Out  from  'neath  the  coverlid, 

Laden,  with  the  most  endearing 
Smiles,  that  ever  dimples  hid. 

From  the  time  of  morning's  waking, 

To  the  paling  of  the  day, 
Little  voice  and  feet  are  taking 

All  the  liberties  of  play ; 

Castle-building,  thoughts  are  teeming, — 
Not  a  care  to  check  her  glee,  — 

Seems  the  earnest  of  the  dreaming, 
Clothed  in  pure  simplicity. 


1  The  author's  only  child. 
2 


10  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Innocence  and  mirth  inviting, 
Scenes  that  babyhood  imparts, 

Serve  as  torches  in  the  lighting 
Happy  home,  and  happy  hearts. 

"With  the  past,  inurned  will  slumber 
Soon,  the  sweetest  time  of  life ; 

Soon  will  cares,  in  ceaseless  number, 
Call  her  to  the  rugged  strife. 

Little  Ida  !  may  thy  morrow, 
Like  thy  babyhood's  to-day, 

Know  but  little  of  the  sorrow 
Life  has  scattered  o'er  the  way. 


TO    MARGARET. 

Moss  shall  never  girt  the  fountain, 
At  which  friendship  holds  the  cup, 
Rilling  from  the  holy  mountain, 
God  for  love  hath  towered  up. 
At  its  fount  I'll  quaff  devotion, 
Round  thy  name  forever  more, 
Even  as  the  sands  of  ocean 
Toss,  unceasing,  on  the  shore. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  11 


L  I  L  L  I  E. 

Like  the  bow  which  spans  the  heaven, 

In  the  arch  of  blue, 

Lifts  the  hopes,  and  like  the  leaven 

Lightens  promise  too,  — 

Is  thy  smile,  and  may  its  rays 

Early  light  some  mortal's  days. 


TO    LIBBIE. 

Life,  like  the  ocean,  has  gems  that  are  hidden 
In  its  safe  bosom,  the  world  cannot  see  — 
Blessed  be  friendship !  with  it  I  am  bidden 
Bring  to  the  surface  the  value  in  thee. 
Imaging  worth,  admiration  and  love  — 
Each  one  a  crown  in  the  glory  above. 


FOE    A    FRIEND. 

As  down  in  the  sunless  retreats  of  the  ocean 
Sweet  flowers  are  blooming  no  mortal  can  see, 
So  deep  in  my  bosom  is  friendship's  devotion, 
Unseen  by  the  world,  still  remembering  thee. 


12  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


TO    DOHA     AND     ALICE    B. 

My  dear  little  nieces  —  both  Dora  and  Alice  — 
Say,  why  don't  you  write  me  a  letter  or  two  ? 

I  am  sure  that  it  cannot  be  hatred  or  malice 
That  keeps  me  from  getting  a  letter  from  you. 

"Why  don't  you  invite  me  to  come  out  to  Sherman, 
To  join  you  in  romping  and  having  such  fun  ? 

You  don't  know  but  that  I  might  quickly  de- 
termine 
To  take  up  the  offer  and  travel  from  home. 

I  think  that  I'd  like,  with  my  two  little  nieces, 
To  hunt  for  some  eggs,  in  the  barn  or  the  mow, 

Or  drive  down  to  water  the  chicks  and  the  geeses, 
Or  ride  into  market  astraddle  the  cow. 

Now,  won't  you  please  write  me  a  nice  little  letter, 
Just  to  show  that  you  sometimes  are  thinking 
of  me? 

In  directing  the  envelope  I  think  you  had  better 
Say  —  "  Albany,  Eagle  street,  one  sixty-three." 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  13 


T  0  

Oh  !  heart,  be  still !  stop  pulsing  for  a  love 
Whose  ripened  sheaf  dare  not  be  garnered  here, 

Stop  !  let  the  past  as  registered  above 
Find  not  a  grave  within  a  single  tear. 

The  gyve  is  strong !    Its  chafing  wears  the  span 
In  fruitless  efforts  looking  for  release. 

Break  !  ere  my  soul  evokes  a  frenzied  ban 
On  home  and  hope,  pure  happiness  and  peace. 

The  chalice  tempts !  Oh  !  take  it  from  my  sight ; 

'Twere  better  that  my  heart  should  go  athirst 
Than  know  each  drop  I  drink  of  its  delight 

But  sinks  my  soul  much  deeper  than  the  first. 

My  prayers  for  thee  !  Give  back  my  empty  hand ; 

I'll  battle  with  the  cares  of  coming  years ; 
And  anchor  hope  that  in  the  happy  land 

We'll  know  and  love,  without  regret  or  tears. 


14  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


TO      A      FRIEND. 

They  tell  me  thou  art  gay 
In  thy  palace  far  away 
Where  another  reaps  the  smile  that  once  was 

mine,  my  love, 
And  my  heart  is  sad  and  low 
For  I  think  of  long  ago 

And  the  folly  of  this  heart  that  once  was  thine,  my 
love. 


TO      A      FRIEND. 

In  my  unbroken  chain  of  affection, 

That  is  formed  of  the  tried  and  the  true, 

One  gem  of  the  circle  collection 
Is  the  link  emblematic  of  you. 

May  no  act  of  the  future  dissever 
That  circle  that  binds  you  to  me ; 

No  rust  of  forgetfulness  ever 

Destroy  my  remembrance  of  thee. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  15 


TO      A      FKIEND. 

The  dew  of  morning  ne'er  forgets 
To  fill  the  waiting  lily's  cup ; 

Nor  morning  sun  to  bend  its  rays, 
And  pick  the  jewel  up. 

The  twinkling  stars  that  fleck  the  dome 
When  evening  drops  its  sable  robe, 

Kernember  well  their  path  to  roam 
About  our  little  globe. 

As  constant  may  I  hope  to  find 
The  cup  of  friendship  held  by  thee ; 

And  trust  that  in  the  fading  years 
You'll  still  remember  me. 


16  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


NO    CHARMS    WITHOUT    THEE. 

Life  hath  lost  its  charms  without  thee ; 
(Heaven  throw  a  shield  ahout  thee  ! ) 
Thoughts  but  mock  the  passing  hours,  waiting 

for  the  coming  day. 
Sleep  refuses  aid  for  dreaming 
Only  sorrow  thoughts  are  streaming 
Through  my  aching  brain,  while  thinking  of  my 
darling  far  away. 

Could  the  promised  sun  to-morrow 
Wake  me  from  this  brooding  sorrow  — 
Could  it  find  the  chalice  broken  whence  I  quaff 

so  much  of  grief — 
Hope  would  span  anew  the  heaven 
Which  by  gloomy  thought  is  riven, 
And  anew  my  soul  would  ramble  in  the  garden 
of  relief. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  17 


NEVER      FORGOTTEN. 

Within  the  domain  of  pure  love  and  affection, 
Encircled  by  dreams  of  the  present  and  past, 

Lives  a  friend,  whom  I  cherish  in  fond  recollec- 
tion 
Let  it  ever  be  so,  while  the  future  shall  last. 

Yes,  the  storms  of  affliction  and  sorrow  encumber 

The  mariner  over  life's  turbulent  sea ; 
0 !  that  I  might  be  one,  who  could  lessen  the 

number, 

Kind  friend,  —  of  the  storms  that  are  waiting 
for  thee. 

In  your  labor  of  weaving  the  web  of  devotion, 
Turn  a  thought  on  the  one  who  will  never 

forget ; 

Thus  assuringa  friend — though  on  life's  change- 
ful ocean, 

You  have  never  forgotten  —  but  think  of  me 
yet. 


18  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


FKIENDSHIP  — JENNIE. 

Jewel  in  the  rich  tiara, 
Emerald  of  brightest  sheen  : 
Naught  but  Death's  unknown  Sahara 
Ne'er  shall  dim  its  light  serene. 
Iris  to  the  soul  —  its  rays 
Ever  point  to  happy  days. 


T  0 


This  humble  tribute  please  receive 
With  earnest  wishes  from  the  heart 

Of  each  the  donors,  who  believe 
True  friendship  but  a  noble  art. 

Upon  our  mem'ry's  choicest  page 
Is  graven  like  a  magic  charm 

Thy  name,  which  neither  rust  nor  age, 
Nor  cold  neglect,  shall  bring  to  harm. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  19 


DO  NOT  FORGET. 

Do  not  forget  me,  dear, 

Do  not  forget ; 
Earnest  I'm  praying,  dear, 

Loving  thee  yet ; 
Cherish  the  promises 

Vow'd  when  we  met, 
Do  not  forget  me,  dear, 

Do  not  forget. 

Join  with  the  gaily,  dear, 

Seek  to  alloy 
Sadness  with  happiness, 

Sorrow  with  joy : 
I  would  not  deprive  thee 

Such  happiness,  yet 
Do  not  forget  me,  dear, 

Do  not  forget. 

Wander  in  sunny  climes, 

Over  the  sea ; 
Clamber  the  Appenines, 

Happy  and  free ; 


20  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Banish  the  sorrowful, 

Bury  regret 

Do  not  forget  me,  dear, 
Do  not  forget. 

Go  where  soft  breezes,  love, 

Rock  thee  to  sleep  ; 
List  to  the  music,  love, 

Fairy-like  sweep 
Over  sweet  Italy 

Freely,  and  yet 
Do  not  forget  me,  dear, 

Do  not  forget. 

Faith  in  thy  promises 

Lightens  my  heart, 
Pictures  thy  image,  dear, 

Just  as  thou  art ; 
Remember,  in  earnest 

I'm  loving  thee  yet  — 
Do  not  forget  me,  dear, 

Do  not  forget. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  21 


THINK    OF    ME    YET. 

Friends  of  the  years  long  ago, 

Pictures  I  cannot  forget, 
Oh !  it  were  pleasant  to  know 

Some  of  them  think  of  me  yet. 
Would  that  my  wishes  could  fly 

Safe  o'er  the  sea  and  the  foam, 
Some  one  would  read  in  my  sigh 

A  wish  for  a  letter  from  home. 


GOLDEN    CHAIN. 

As  the  dew  that  is  kissed  hy  the  sun  on  the  flower 
Enlivens  and  fills  it  with  sweetness  and  breath, 

So  I  trust  that  the  chain  that  is  woven  this  hour 
May  unite  us  in  friendship  'till  severed  by  death. 


22  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


I    CHOOSE    TO    BE     ALONE. 

A  wild,  wet  night !  The  driving  sleet 
Blurs  all  the  lamps  along  the  quay ; 
The  windows  shake ;  the  busy  street 
Is  yet  alive  with  hurrying  feet ; 
The  wind  raves  from  the  sea. 

So  let  it  rave  !  My  lamp  burns  bright ; 

My  long  day's  work  is  almost  done ; 
I  curtain  out  each  sound  and  sight — 
Of  all  nights  in  the  year,  to-night 

I  choose  to  be  alone. 


THINK    OF    ME,    FRANK. 

Friendship,  true,  will  never  die ; 
Reason  shows  the  reason  why ; 
And  where'er  you  find  a  rest  — 
North,  or  South,  or  East,  or  West  — 
Kindly  think  of  me. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


HOPING. 

Stealing  through  my  lattice  window 

Comes  the  sun, 
Heralding  another  morning, 

Just  begun, 

Every  ray  replete  with  blessing, 
Rich  and  poor  alike  caressing, 
And  with  welcome  glee  addressing 

Every  one. 

Darling  Willie,  I  am  hoping 

Bye  and  bye, 
When  this  wicked  war  is  over, 

You  and  I, 
By  the  pledges  we  have  plighted, 

In  the  heart  of  home  delighted 
Shall  again  be  re-united 

'Till  we  die. 


24  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


WISHES. 

That  I  were  but  a  poet, 
That  I'd  the  power  to  show  it 
That  all  the  world  should  know  it, 
My  darling,  0,  my  darling. 

I'd  give  interpretation 
To  ev'ry  exclamation, 
And  take  you  on  probation, 
My  darling,  0,  my  darling. 

"  That  life  were  but  beginning," 
(A  baby  —  sure  as  sinning  — 
If  so,  you'd  be  more  winning) 
My  darling,  0,  my  darling. 

"  That  memory  were  not  grievous" 
(If  you've  been  naughty,  leave  us, 
Don't  wish,  and  then  deceive  us,) 
My  darling,  0,  my  darling. 

"  That  loving  were  not  sinning," 
(It  never  is  when  "  winning" 
Adheres  to  the  beginning,) 

My  darling,  O,  my  darling. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  25 


AWAITING    THANKSGIVING. 

Three  days  yet  of  tugging  and  toiling  and  strife, 
When  I,  with  my  "  little  one,"  baggage  and  wife, 
Will  set  out  on  a  journey,  nor  tarry  until 
We  arrive  at  the  cottage  just  under  the  hill.1 

And  while  I  am  writing  my  fancy  is  fed, 
And  visions  of  eatables  dance  through  my  head. 
0,  hasten  the  gala-day  !  When  will  it  come  ? 
I'm  so  tired  of  waiting,  and  want  to  go  home. 

Nov.  23, 1862. 


TO       MO  L  LIE. 

Many  a  gem's  in  the  depths  of  the  ocean, 
Over  which  waves  may  unceasingly  roll. 
Like  unto  it  is  the  gem  of  devotion 
Living,  though  seeming  asleep,  in  the  soul ; 
Imaging  only  its  welcoming  light, 
Earnest  to  him  who  is  blessed  with  the  right. 


1  Referring  to  the  old  homestead,  the  residence  of  his  par- 
ents at  Fort  Plain. 

4 


26  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


HOME,     HOME     AGAIN. 

THANKSGIVING  DAY. 
AIB.—  "  Ring  the  Bell,  Watchman.'1'' 

Long,  long  the  days  of  thy  coming  appeared, 
Blest  day,  by  sweet  recollections  endeared  ; 
But  from  the  valley,  the  hill  and  the  plain, 
Thanksgiving  Day  has  brought  us  home,  home 
again. 

CHORUS. 

Join  the  song,  sister  —  sing,  brother,  sing, 
Loud  let  your  voices  with  thankfulness  ring  ! 
Hark  !  hear  the  echoes,  they  join  the  refrain  — 
"  Happy,  happy  are  we,  for  we're  home,  home 
again." 


Spring-time  has  gathered  its  richest  perfume, 
Summer  has  reaped  from  the  blossom  and  bloom, 
Autumn  has  garnered  the  fruit  and  the  grain, 
Winter  comes,  and  we  are  gathered  home,  home 
again. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  27 

Here's  where  the  bright  days  of  childhood's  de- 
light, 

Passed  with  no  care  for  the  world's  dreary  night ; 
Here's  where  the  dreams  of  our  youth  still  remain  : 
How  we  love  to  think  of  being  home,  home  again. 

Still  we've  the  hand  of  a  Father  to  bless ; 
Still  we've  a  kind  Mother's  smile  and  caress  ; 
Still  we've  a  welcome  that's  worthy  the  name ; 
O  !  how  much  of  joy  we  find  in  "  home,  home 
again." 


Yes,  yes,  the  good  time,  so  joyous  and  gay, 
Ever  remember'd,  is  with  us  to-day ; 
Raise,  raise  your  voices,  and  spread  the  refrain 
Union  forevermore  !  we're  home,  home  again. 

FOKT  PLAIN,  N.  Y.,  December  7,  1865, 1 
November  28,  1872.) 


28  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


MY    ABSENT     SISTER.1 


THANKSGIVING  DAY. 


The  only  thought  that  mars 
Our  festive  joys  to-day, 

Is,  that  our  circle's  not  complete, 
One  sister  is  away. 


But  in  our  thanks  we'll  not  forget 
You  still  are  in  the  chain ; 

And  in  our  hearts  we  hope  and  pray 
We  yet  may  meet  again. 

Nov.  28, 1872. 


1  The  author's  last  written  production,  embodied  in  a  family 
letter  sent  to  his  sister,  Mrs.  H.  L.  Harter,  of  Potsdam,  N.  Y. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  29 


DAYS    OF    YOUTH. 

0  !  days  of  youth  !  In  retrospect  I  turn  thy  pages 

o'er, 

And  read  them  with  a  zest  that  I  have  never  felt 
before ; 

1  feel  that  all  my  "  active  life"  is  sluggish  in  its 

flow 

Compared  with  Youth's  bright  rivulet  of  twenty 
years  ago. 


HIS     RETURN. 

I  came  here  a  stranger,  I  thought  'twould  be  joy 
In  my  manhood  to  roam  where  I  roamed  when 

a  boy,  — 
I  have  learned  that  deep  sorrow  a  day  may 

impart, 
With  the  shadow   of  graves  hanging  over  the 

heart. 


30  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


CHRISTMAS     CAROL. 


Gladly  the  bells  are  ringing, 
Sing  merry  Christmas, 
Sing  merry  Christmas,     . 

Hope  in  the  heart  is  springing, 
Christ  is  with  us  to-day. 

CHORUS. 

Ring  the  bells, 

Ring  the  bells  for  the  merry,  merry,  merry,  merry 
Christmas, 

Ring  the  bells, 

Ring  the  bells  for  the  merry,  merry,  merry,  merry 
Christmas. 

II. 

Brightly  the  star  is  nearing, 

Sing  merry  Christmas, 

Sing  merry  Christmas, 
Jesus  the  Christ  appearing, 

Lowly  in  Bethlehem. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  31 


m. 

Light  up  your  hearts  with  gladness, 

Sing  merry  Christmas, 

Sing  merry  Christmas, 
Out  from  the  clouds  of  sadness 

Jesus,  our  Hope,  appears. 

IV. 

Sing  we  the  same  glad  story, 

Sing  merry  Christmas, 

Sing  merry  Christmas, 
There  is  a  crown  of  glory, 

Waiting  for  you  and  me. 

The  Albany  Evening  Journal  of  Dec.  14,  1872,  in  referring 
to  the  foregoing,  says  :  —  "  The  music,  which  is  by  our  towns- 
man, Mr.  Theo.  Mosher,  is  arranged  for  soprano,  alto  and 
bass,  trio  and  chorus,  and  while  within  the  capacity  of  most 
musicians,  it  possesses  an  artistic  merit  not  always  found  in 
Christmas  music.  In  its  unaffected  simplicity  and  appropri- 
ateness to  the  occasion,  as  well  as  its  spirited  and  graceful 
movement,  it  constitutes  a  real  gem.  The  words  of  the  carol, 
which,  we  may  observe,  were  written  by  the  late  W.  C.  Wen- 
dell, whose  death  was  announced  but  a  few  days  ago,  breathe 
throughout  a  joyous,  hopeful  spirit,  and  are  well  adapted  to 
the  music  which  is  wedded  to  them." 


32  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


A    THOUGHT    FOR    YOU. 

When  moods  of  low  despondency  like  curtains 
hide  the  light, 

And  bring  me  only  shadows  that  foretell  the  com- 
ing night, 

Or  when  a  ray  of  hope  escapes  from  out  the 
heavy  blue 

To  cheer  my  heart  —  at  either  time,  I  have  a 
thought  for  you. 


T  0  

Darkness  is  on  the  hearth, 

Naught  do  I  say, 

Books  are  but  little  worth  ; 

Thou  art  away. 

Voices,  the  true  and  kind, 

Strange  are  to  me, 

I  have  lost  heart  and  mind 

Thinking  of  thee. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


CHRISTMAS     HYMN. 

Sung  at  South  Dutch  Church  Sunday, School  Anniversary, 
at  Albany. 

[Dec.  25,  1856.] 

Away  !  away !  away  we  go, 

Merrily  o'er  the  fleecy  snow, 
Away  !  away !  away  we  go, 

Merrily  on  we  go. 
Roses  bloom  where  dimples  play 

On  the  cheek  of  mirth, 
Sweetly  chasing  care  away 

O'er  the  shrouded  earth. 

Away !  away !  away  we  go, 

Merrily  o'er  the  fleecy  snow, 
Away  !  away !  away  we  go, 

Merrily  on  we  go. 
Happy  let  our  voices  sing 

At  this  jubilee, 
Dearest  gems  of  mem'ry  cling, 

Sabbath  School,  to  thee. 


34  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


SWEET    BYE     AND    BYE. 

[When  the  popular  air,  "  Sweet  Bye  and  Bye,"  was  first  pub- 
lished, having  but  three  stanzas,  the  following  two  were 
added  by  the  author.] 

"We  have  friends  on  that  beautiful  shore, 
Who  are  waiting  to  meet  us  with  glee, 

Where  "  Good  Bye"  will  be  said  nevermore, 
While  the  Saviour  in  glory  we  see. 
CHORUS. —  "  In  the  Sweet  Bye  and  Bye,"  &c. 

There  is  peace  on  that  beautiful  shore, 
There  is  rest  for  the  weary  above, 

There  with  Jesus  we'll  rest  ever  more, 
And  partake  of  his  bountiful  love. 

CHORUS.- —  "  In  the  Sweet  Bye  and  Bye,"  &c. 


WINTER    COMES     AGAIN. 

Spring-time  ne'er  forgets  its  roses  — 
Summer's  sun  its  ripening  grain, 

Autumn  in  its  wealth  reposes, 
Winter  comes  again.     - 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  35 


WELCOME     AT     THE     DOOR. 

While  the  years  of  Time  roll  o'er  us, 

While  care  and  sorrow  go  before, 
Still  we'll  sing  our  happy  chorus  — 

"  We've  friends  to  welcome  at  the  door." 
There  is  pleasure  in  the  meeting 

When  absence  makes  you  love  the  more, 
When  the  hand  and  heart  are  greeting 

The  friends  we  welcome  at  the  door. 

Long  may  it  be  Heaven's  pleasure  — 
Long  this  blessing  keep  in  store  — 

Long  to  cherish  it  a  treasure, 

Meeting  loved  ones  at  the  door. 

Here  the  sister  meets  with  brother, 

Long  parted  from  the  olden  shore ; 
Here  a  father,  here  a  mother, 

All  meet  to  welcome  at  the  door. 
Mem'ries  rise  and  pass  before  us 

Of  those  we  loved  but  see  no  more, 
But  they  sing  the  Heavenly  chorus, 

And  bid  us  welcome  at  the  door. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


SPEAK    GENTLE     WORDS. 

Speak  gentle  words  !  The  lip  may  edge 
The  poorest  gift  with  welcome  gold  ! 

May  drop  pure  seed  among  the  sedge, 
Whose  yield  may  be  "  a  thousand  fold." 

Speak  gentle  words !     Perchance  some  breast 
By  guilt  inflamed,  may  drink  them  in, 

And  from  their  soothing  find  a  rest 
Beyond  the  baleful  reach  of  sin. 

Speak  gentle  words  !     The  little  child 

Bereft,  and  cast  upon  the  stage, 
Might  mutely  bless,  and  when  she  smiled, 

Light  up  with  thanks  her  orphanage. 

Speak  gentle  words  !     Their  mystic  charm 

A  Saviour  won  to  you  and  me  ! 
They  often  shield  a  soul  from  harm 

And  save  one  for  eternity. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  37 


"NAKED"    TRUTH. 

Truth  and  Falsehood  once  together 
Chanced  to  meet,  and  in  the  path 

Both  agreed  the  sultry  weather 
Bid  them  take  a  river  bath. 


So,  disrobing,  quick  disported 
They  within  the  cooling  tide ; 

Found  the  balm  that  each  had  courted 
Ev'ry  wish  had  satisfied. 

Falsehood,  being  first  at  leaving, 
Clothed  himself  with  Truth's  array, 

Took  the  good  clothes — Truth  deceiving 
Left  his  rags  and  sped  away. 

Truth  disdains  the  lie  to  practice  — 
Falsehood  travels  like  a  prince  — 

Dating  from  the  bath,  the  fact  is 
Truth's  been  naked  ever  since. 

June  26,  1869. 


38  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

LIGHT. 

[Oct.  29,  1863.] 

Light,  in  silver  rays  descending, 
Starts  the  lily  from  her  rest, 

Leaves  a  wake  of  joy  and  gladness 
In  her  journey  to  the  west. 

Light,  impartial,  bathes  in  splendor 
Lowly  roof  and  palace  dome, 

Streaming  in  the  lordly  mansion, 
Gladdening  the  cottage  home. 


SINGING     FROM     THE     HEART. 

If  you  have  a  pleasant  thought  —  sing  it,  sing  it  — 
Like  the  birdies  in  their  sport,  sing  it  from  the 

heart. 

Does  the  Holy  Spirit  move 
For  the  lambkins  of  His  love, 
Sing  and  point  the  fold  above,  sing  it  from  the 
heart. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  39 

Are  you  weary,  are  you  sad  —  sing  it,  sing  it  — 
Make  yourselves  and  others  glad  —  sing  it  from 

the  heart. 

Angels  up  before  His  face 
Sing  of  His  redeeming  grace, 
Give  the  Saviour  endless  praise  —  sing  it  from  the 
heart. 

Ev'ry  gracious  deed  of  His  —  sing  it,  sing  it, 
Nothing  sounds  so  well  as  this  —  sing  it  from  the 

heart. 

How  He  walked  upon  the  wave 
Rescued  Lazarus  from  the  grave, 
Died  our  guilty  souls  to  save  —  sing  it  from  the 
heart. 


SPRING-TIME. 

The  beauties  of  Spring-time  —  its  sunshine  and 

showers, 
Its    birds,   buds    and    blossoms,   and   beautiful 

flowers, 

Have  received  the  attention  of  poets  and  sages 
From  Ossian  down  through  the  cycle  of  ages. 


40  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


ABSENT. 

Spring  has  spoken  to  the  flowers, 
Through  the  sunbeams  and  the  showers ; 
Blossoms  cast  their  fragrance  freely,  as  they 

did  in  days  of  yore  ; 
Still  the  work  of  Nature's  fingers, 
And  the  warble  of  her  singers 
Do  not  have  the  winning  power,  that  they  always 
had  before. 

Life  has  lost  its  charms  without  thee  — 
(Heaven  keep  its  shield  about  thee)  — 
Thoughts  but  mock  the  passing  hours,  waiting 

for  the  coming  day ; 
Sleep  refuses  aid  for  dreaming  — 
Only  sorrow-thoughts  are  streaming 
Through  my  aching  brain,  while  thinking  of  my 
darling,  far  away. 

Could  the  promised  sun  to-morrow 
Wake  me  from  this  brooding  sorrow ; 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  41 

Could  it  find  the  chalice  broken,  whence 

I  quaff  so  much  of  grief,  — 
Hope  would  span  anew  the  heaven 
Which  by  gloomy  thought  is  riven, 
And  afresh  my  soul  would  ramble  in  the  garden 
of  relief. 

Though  I  walk  in  happy  places  — 
Though  I  see  familiar  faces  — 
Though  their  sympathetic  voices  tell  of  friend- 
ship unalloyed ; 

Still  there  is  a  shade  and  sorrow 
Shrouds  the  vision  of  to-morrow, 
There's  no  other  but  thee,  darling,  that  can 
fill  the  aching  void. 

But  I  feel  the  time  is  nearing, 
When,  these  war-clouds  disappearing, 
Peace,  shall  ring  from   every  lyre — Union  be 

the  glad  refrain ; 
Then,  united,  we  will  ever 
Send  petitions  to  the  Giver, 
That  the  curse  of  war  may  never  cloud 
our  happy  home  again. 

Albany  May  29,  1863. 
6 


42  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


SEARCHING     FOR    THE     SEA. 

From  out  a  fissure  in  the  rock,  against  the 

rugged  hill, 
Came  trickling  at  my  feet  the  drops  that 

formed  a  little  rill : 
The  rill  in  creeping  down  the  slope — so  like  a 

silver  thread  — 
Seemed  whispering  with  infant  glee,  and 

this  is  what  it  said  : 
"  I'm  free  and  happy,  yet  I  will 

That  I  should  happier  be ; 
I  shall  not  always  he  a  rill  — 
I'm  searching  for  the  sea." 

The  little  brook,  in  merry  glee,  came  dancing 

through  the  dell, 
And  sang  a  happy  song  for  me  as  o'er  the 

rocks  it  fell ; 
Then  tripped   away,   with  music   sweet,  adown 

its  pebble  bed  — 
My  ear  was  charmed,  I  list'ning  stood,  and 

this  is  what  it  said  : 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  43 

"  I'm  free  and  happy,  but  I  dream 

That  I  shall  happier  be  ; 
I  shall  not  always  be  a  stream  — 
I'm  searching  for  the  sea." 

I  stood  upon  the  mossy  bank,  just  by  the 

river's  side, 
And  watched,  as  wave  was  crowding  wave 

adown  the  mighty  tide  ; 
While  from  a  thousand  little  tongues  from 

out  that  crystal  head 
Came  words  that  cheered  my  drooping  heart, 

and  this  is  what  they  said : 
"  We're  free  and  happy,  yet  we  hope 

That  we  may  happier  be ; 
We're  looking  for  a  wider  scope  — 
We're  searching  for  the  sea." 

Each  mortal  has  a  course  to  run :  the  babe 

at  mother's  breast ; 
The  child  just  stepping  in  the  world  to 

battle  with  the  rest ; 
The  middle-aged  whose  life  has  passed 

from  rill  and  brook  to  river  — 
All  journey  on  to  meet  the  sea  that  finds 

no  shores  forever. 


44  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

While  in  the  current  flow  of  years, 
Each  heart  may  happier  be, 

By  keeping  smiles  above  the  tears 
In  searching  for  the  sea. 

Albany,  Dec.  21,  1865. 


ON    A    LOCK     OF     HAIR. 

0,  little  waif,  how  memory's  light 
Illumes  the  past  at  sight  of  thee  ; 

I'll  treasure,  with  a  fond  delight, 

The  pleasant  dreams  you  bring  to  me. 


BROOKLET. 

Dancing  lightly  through  the  meadow — 

Bounding  gladly  o'er  the  lea, 
Now  in  sunlight,  now  in  shadow  — 

Searching  for  the  sea, 
Wends  the  little  brooklet,  making 

Music  for  its  tripping  feet, 
Mindless  of  the  troubled  quaking 

Other  objects  meet. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  45 


AT    BEST. 

At  rest !  how  consoling  the  thought  that  the 
morrow — 

Laden  ever  with  trouble,  vexation  and  pain  — 
Shall  forever  pass  by  with  its  burden  of  sorrow, 

And  never  disturb  our  Mother  again. 


NOTHING    LOST. 

[Sep.  20,  I860.] 

Each  pearly  drop  of  dew  that  rolls 

From  evening's  curtained  crest, 
And  seeks  within  the  lily's  folds 

A  biding  place  and  rest, 
Is  sought  by  morning's  coming  gleam 

That  dazzles  o'er  the  plain, 
And  by  the  fingers  of  its  sheen 

Is  taken  home  again. 


46  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Each  wholesome  thought  that  springs  to  light 

From  its  sojourning  place, 
Commissioned  in  its  errand-flight 

To  benefit  the  race, 
May  mutely  speed — like  snowy  flake 

Fall  gently  on  the  lea, 
Yet  with  an  arm  of  power  shake 

Debased  humanity. 

Each  act  of  love  that  singles  out 

A  follower  of  sin, 
And  sallies  on  the  strong  redoubt 

Determining  to  win, 
May  sunder  many  a  tilting  lance 

While  fraying  with  the  foe, 
Yet  finally  they  will  advance 

With  kisses  for  the  blow. 

Each  word  that  consolation  pours 

In  sorrow's  aching  heart, 
And  points  to  beatific  shores 

Where  friends  shall  never  part ; 
Will  glide  aloft  on  plumed  wings 

And  gather  with  the  weight 
Of  goodly  deeds  that  welcome  brings 

In  that  eternal  state. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  47 


LINES. 

On  the  death  of  Jane,  wife  of  Edward  Clover,  who  died  July 

7,  1865. 

Asleep  in  peace  !  The  hush  of  death 

Surrounds  her  earthly  bed  to-night ; 
Still  is  the  voice,  and  gone  the  breath : 
But  Mother  lives  with  him  who  saith 
"  I  am  the  way  and  light." 


We  weep  and  grieve !     "We  never  knew, 
'Till  Death  unsealed  the  fount  of  tears, 

How  much  we  loved,  nor  yet  how  few 

The  hours  left  for  us  to  do 
Full  homage  to  her  years. 


The  star  of  Faith  !  Its  cheering  rays 

Was  Mother's  compass  o'er  the  sea ; 
Its  light  repelled  the  doubting  haze, 
Illuminating  the  darkest  days, 
Before  the  soul  was  free. 


48  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Asleep  in  peace !  The  wildest  blast 

Shall  harmless  pass  her  resting  place : 
The  voyage  o'er,  her  anchor's  cast 
Within  the  haven  where  at  last 
We  hope  to  see  her  face. 


LINES 

On  the  death  of  Jessie,  only  daughter  of  James  and  Sarah 
Tompkins,  aged  2  years,  4  months,  and  2  days. 

Out  from  sorrow  'till  the  morrow, 
One  too  pure  for  earth  to  own ; 

Passed  the  portal  of  the  mortal, 
Waits  the  father's  welcome  home. 

She  is  sleeping  —  we  are  weeping  — 
She  in  peace,  and  we  in  pain ; 

But,  0  Father,  by  thy  keeping, 
We  shall  see  her  wake  again. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  49 


LINES 

Written  in  a  Bible  presented  to  C.  H.  —  N.  Y.   S.  Militia, 
25th  Regiment,  previous  to  his  departure  for  Washington. 

May  the  blessings  of  Heaven  in  showers 

descend, 
And  nerve  you  to  follow  our  country's 

behest, 
Encompass  and  guard,  'till  the  battle 

shall  end, 
And  peace  be  restored,  and  the  Nation 

at  rest. 


JESSIE     ASLEEP. 

Two  summers'  suns  have  waxed  and  waned 

Since  erst  was  ushered  into  life  — 
Since  first  we  dreamed  our  treasure  gained, 
When  Jessie  entered  in  the  strife. 
We  met  no  ill  to  cause  a  sigh, 

No  call  for  tears  to  weep, 
As  mother  sang  the  lullaby 
While  Jessie  went  to  sleep. 


50  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Parental  love  had  done  its  part 

In  welding  hope  within  a  chain 
To  bind  to  us  the  little  heart, 

'Till  He  should  take  it  home  again. 
"We  little  dreamed  that  Death  was  nigh, 

Our  little  sheaf  to  reap, 
While  mother  sang  the  lullaby 
As  Jessie  went  to  sleep. 

Two  simple  years  of  test  were  given, 

By  Father ;  then,  His  love  to  show, 
He  took  the  jewel  up  to  heaven, 
And  left  the  casket  mould  below. 
No  weight  of  love  beneath  the  sky 

Could  our  treasure  keep ; 
So  angels  sang  the  lullaby, 
And  Jessie  went  to  sleep. 


ONLY     ASLEEP. 

Gone  from  the  scenes  of  her  sorrow  and  pain, 
Gone  from  a  land  where  the  sorrowing  weep, 
Gone  —  but  we  know  we  shall  see  her  again, 
Blessed  assurance  —  she  is  only  asleep. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  51 


OUK    GEM    ABOVE. 

Lines  suggested  by  the  death  of  Mary  Ann,  only  daughter 
of  James  H.  and  Jane  R.  Carroll,  who  Died  on  Friday,  Feb- 
ruary 27th,  18G3  —  in  the  fifth  year  of  her  age. 

Just  one  week  ago  we  owned 

A  little  gem  — 
Purer  far  than  ever  throned 

A  diadem : 

With  a  richer  light  it's  glowing, 
'Midst  its  kindred  jewels  growing, 
And  a  Father's  love  is  flowing 

Over  them. 

Like  a  lily,  she  was  given 

For  an  hour  — 
But  a  bud  to  us,  in  Heaven 

Blooms  the  flower. 

"We  had  hoped  the  promised  sweetness 
"Would  mature  to  life's  completeness ; 
But  a  higher  life's  repleteness 

Is  her  dower. 


52  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


LINES 

On  the  death  of  Ida  Keyes,  aged  11  years,  and  5  months. 

So  sweet  in  life  —  a  happy  death 

Left  tears  for  us  — to  Ida,  rest. 
Her  little  voice  and  latest  breath, 

Proved  that  she  loved  the  Saviour  best. 


0  !  happy  thought  —  the  morning  light, 
That  paled  when  our  Ida  died, 

"Will  brighter  grow  —  without  a  night  — 
With  angels  on  the  sunny  side. 


Her  little  prayers,  that  we  might  meet 
Each  other  in  the  streets  above, 

Shall  move  our  faith,  for,  0  !  'tis  sweet 
To  think  of  meeting  those  we  love. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  53 


"MA     NEVER    TOLD     A     LIE." 

While  passing  through  the  busy  street 

One  drear  December  day, 
A  stranger  saw  two  little  feet 

Too  cold  to  run  or  play. 
Compassion  for  the  boy  quick  led 

The  stranger  to  his  side  — 
"  Pa,  ma,  and  brother  Willy's  dead, 

And  I  am  sick,"  he  cried. 

"  I'm  waiting,  sir,  for  God  to  come  — 

I've  waited  all  the  day ; 
I  have  no  pa,  no  ma,  no  home, 

!N~or  where  my  head  to  lay. 
But,  sir,  I  know  that  God  will  see 

And  hear  me  when  I  cry, 
For  ma  said  God  would  care  for  me  — 

Ma  never  told  a  lie." 

"  Now,  should  you  meet  with  God,  please  say 

That  Benny's  sick  and  cold, 
And  that  he's  waited  all  the  day 

To  gather  in  His  fold. 


54  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Yet,  0 !  it  seems  so  long  to  be 

"Without  a  home  —  I  cry, 
But  ma  said  God  would  care  for  me  — 

Ma  never  told  a  lie." 


"  God  sent  me,  boy"  —  the  stranger's  voice 

Crept  through  the  orphan's  ear, 
And  made  the  little  heart  rejoice 

That  God  was  found  so  near. 
"  God  sent  me  here  that  I,  my  lad, 

Might  give  you  better  care, 
Rewarding  one  in  youth  who  had 

Faith  in  a  mother's  prayer." 


"  0  !  sir,  a  thousand  thanks  I  owe  — 

How  shall  I  ever  pay  ? 
But  how  did  God  so  quickly  know 

Just  where  poor  Benny  lay  ? 
Yet  I  was  sure  that  God  would  see 

That  Benny  didn't  die ; 
For  ma  said  He  would  care  for  me  — 

Ma  never  told  a  lie." 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  55 

THE     CHIME. 

There  is  beauty  and  wonder  in  the  flash 

and  the  thunder  — 

There's  a  melody  sweet  in  the  patter  of  rain ; 
There's  a  charm  in  the  pages  of  Mature,  though 

ages 
Have  seen  and  perused  them  again  and  again. 

There's  a  sweet  source  of  pleasure  —  the  featherly 

treasure, 
Perched  safe  in  its  cage  —  hear  the  notes,  how 

they  ring ; 

Not  a  care  or  a  sorrow,  not  a  dread  of  to-morrow ! 
Ever  happy  !  we  envy  the  dear  little  thing. 

There's  accord  in  the  fountain ;  in  the  rill  from 

the  mountain; 
In  the  murmuring  brook  and  the  dashing 

cascade ; 
There  are  notes  in  the  whistle  that  scatters  the 

thistle 
When  the  wild  wind  is  frolicking  over  the  glade. 


56  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

A     YEAR    AGO     TO-DAY. 

[fan.  1,1870.] 

Now  that  we've  passed  the  mystic  line 

Between  the  Old  and  ISTew, 
We'll  leave  the  new  year  for  a  time 

And  '70  review. 
A  thousand  little  thoughts  will  come 

And  found  an  active  play, 
By  turning  leaves  and  dating  from 

A  year  ago  to-day. 


The  records  of  a  single  year 

Are  strangely  interwrought 
With  life  and  death,  with  hope  and  fear, 

With  gay  and  gloomy  thought. 
And  few  can  turn  the  pages  o'er, 

With  truthfulness,  and  say, 
"  I've  many  friends,  and  had  no  more 

A  year  ago  to-day." 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  57 

Not  many  eyes,  that  now  behold 

The  dawning  of  the  year, 
Have  not  been  witnesses  that  told 

The  story  of  a  tear  ! 
Not  many  hearts,  but  what  can  claim 

Companionship  with  clay 
That  held  a  soul  within  its  frame 

A  year  ago  to-day. 


How  many,  who  essayed  to  climb 

Ambition's  giddy  mount, 
Have  fallen  in  this  little  time, 

None  will  attempt  to  count ; 
Yet  Power,  Gold  and  Lucifer 

Can  shout  aloud  and  say, 
"  As  many  follow  as  there  were 

A  year  ago  to-day." 


58  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


FOR    AN     ALBUM. 

Buds  foretell  the  coming  roses, 
Golden  grain,  the  reaper's  tread ; 

Little  rain-drop  presupposes 
Showers  overhead. 


Little  waifs  from  Friendship's  ocean, 
Harbored  in  this  little  book, 

Speak  a  holier  devotion 
Than  a  word  or  look. 


Go  thou  forth  upon  thy  mission, 
Gather  every  precious  gem ; 

Friendship  then  will  be  fruition  — 
Love,  my  diadem. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  59 


FRIENDSHIP. 

True  friendship  ever  will  reflect 
Its  picture  on  the  yielding  heart, 

And  only  fade  when  cold  neglect 
Strikes  friendly  hands  apart. 

Like  sunlight  on  the  drooping  rose, 
Or  dews  within  the  lily's  cup, 

Will  friendship  nurse  the  hearts  of  those 
Who  hold  the  treasure  up. 


A     MOTHER'S     GIFT. 

Verses  written  in  a  Bible. 

Remember,  Son,  who  gave  thee  this, 
When  other  days  shall  come  — 

When  she,  who  had  thy  earliest  kiss, 
Sleeps  in  her  narrow  home. 

Remember  'twas  a  Mother  gave 

The  gift  to  one  she'd  die  to  save. 


60  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

A  parent's  blessing  on  her  son 
Goes  with  this  holy  thing. 

The  love  that  to  the  one  retain 
Must  to  the  other  cling. 

Remember,  'tis  no  idle  toy, 

A  Mother's  gift,  —  remember,  boy. 


A     PRAYER. 

0,  Shepherd  of  the  hosts  above, 
Watch  o'er  thy  feeble  flock  below, 

Enfold  us  in  thine  arms  of  love, 

And  lead  us  where  Life's  waters  flow. 

0,  Lord  majestic  —  'round  whose  throne 
The  holy  chorus  ever  sing  — 

Teach  us  to  raise  in  worthy  tone, 
Hosannas  to  our  Saviour-king. 

Beneath  thine  ever  watchful  eye, 
Within  the  hollow  of  thy  hand, 

0,  keep  us  firm,  and  when  we  die 
Receive  us  in  that  Better  Land. 


II.  HUMOROUS. 


COMFORT. 

BY  KATE  B.  T. 

A  table,  with  four  twisted  "  limbs,"  1 

Two  burners  to  the  gas, 
A  book  complete  of  Shakespeare's  hymns, 

And  "something"  in  a  glass; 
Peach  orchard  fire,  the  blower  down, 

Puss  purring  on  the  rug, 
A  rocking-chair,  a  dressing-gown, 

Nor  fitting  very  snug. 

A  bed  for  one  —  a  jet  of  steam 

From  hissing  kettle's  spout, 
A  key  —  to  shut  the  one  within, 

And  shut  all  others  out. 
A  conscience  clear,  commandments  kept 

Down  to  the  veriest  dot, 
(Perhaps  we'll  one  or  two  except, 

We  some  time  have  forgot). 


1  We  should  have  said  "  legs,"  but  we  bethought  ourselves 
of  the  Prudes  —  and  so  you  see  we  didn't  say  legs. 


62  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

No  fear  of  "  Master"  coming  late, 

With  most  befuddled  head, 
With  maudlin  lisp  and  zigzag  gait, 

To  roll  into  our  bed ; 
No  rumpus  raised,  no  hue  and  cry 

From  roaring  babies  —  none 
That  makes  the  stoutest  long  to  die, 

And  go  to  kingdom  come. 

No  long-tongued  females  dropping  in, 

Heaven  keep  them  from  our  path ; 
We'd  turn  from  their  unholy  grin 

As  from  the  simoon's  wrath. 
If  there's  true  comfort  'neath  the  sky, 

When  nothing  scarce  is  true, 
That  home  were  comfort,  so  say  I, 

Kind  reader,  what  say  you  ? 

(N.  Y.  Despatch.} 


COMFORT. 
REPLY  TO  KATE  B.  T. 

BY  WELLY  C.  W. 

A  table  (with  no  twisted  limbs 

To  mar  the  comely  frame) ; 
A  book,  complete  with  nursery  hymns ; 

An  object  for  the  same  ; 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  63 

A  tallow  dip,  by  grocers'  sold 

As  "  sixes"  to  the  pound ; 
A  hickory  knot  to  check  the  cold, 

And  send  a  comfort  'round. 

A  bed  for  two,  and  then,  beside, 

A  little  bed  for  one  — 
No  room  about  the  house  denied 

For  little  feet  to  run ; 
Commandments  kept,  not  only  ten, 

But  all  the  others,  too, 
And  "  multiply"  is  one  of  them  — 

Say,  Katie,  why  don't  you  ? 

No  need  of  "  Paris  Lily  White," 

Or  "  Oriental  Flowers," 
To  paste  the  wrinkles  out  of  sight 

For  half  a  dozen  hours ; 
For  Nature  keeps  our  cheeks  aglow, 

Without  the  painted  dress, 
By  granting  us  a  constant  flow 

Of  love  and  happiness. 


64  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

No  prude-ent  throes  contort  our  voice, 

Compelling  us  to  say 
That  limbs  are  not  analogous 

To  "  legs"  in  any  way ; 
This  only  from  the  lip  escapes 

Of  maids  who  always  "can," 
But  fain  would  wed  a  jackanapes, 

"  Or  any  other  man." 

Jan.  31,  1861. 


A    LETTER    SUPERSCRIPTION. 

For  Stamps  I'll  bet  that  Uncle  Sam  will  drop  this 

mass  of  love 

At  RUFUS  WENDELL'S  domicile,  at  37  DOVE, 
In  ALBANY,  N.  Y. —  and  use  the  best  of  speed  he 

can 
To  place  within  the  hands  of  Rufe  the  "  grist"  of 

"  UNCLE  DAN." 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  65 


TO     SISTER    LUTHERA. 

11  o'clock,  evening. 

Now  here  it  is  so  late  at  night,  I  know  it  will 
be  hard  to  write ;  but  then  as  Addie  says  I  must, 
I'll  do  it,  and  sincerely  trust,  that  I  may  only  keep 
awake,  if  merely  for  the  letter's  sake. 

I  hope  your  move  is  for  the  best  —  'twill  surely 
grant  a  little  rest;  one  month  to  visit  with  your 
friends,  may  help  a  deal  to  make  amends  for 
being  housed  so  long  without  a  chance  to  move 
yourself  about ;  and,  Thera,  when  you  leave  your 
door  remember  us  at  "44;"  for,  sister,  there 
you'll  always  find  a  welcome  when  you  have  a 
mind  to  call  and  prove  the  offer  true!  What 
more  can  anybody  do  ? 

Now  pray  excuse  me,  for  I  feel  "  the  drowsy 
god  "  doth  o'er  me  steal ;  and  we'll  reserve  the 
rest  to  say  when  we  shall  meet  some  other  day. 

Your  Sleepy  Brother, 
WELLY. 


66  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


TO     SISTER     AUEELIA. 

ON  MOVING  TO  PHILADELPHIA. 

[ Albany,  May  1,  1870.] 

DEAR  SISTER  REAL  : 
Your  brother's  "  gone   and  done  it,"  slick  and 

clean ; 
He's  hired  out  with  Brother  Hine  to  "  run"  the 

Howe  machine ; 

But  then  it's  not  in  Albany  (a  city,  by  the  way, 
That  raroly  had  a  smile  for  him),  but  Phil-a-del- 

phi-a ! 


We've  let  the  house  in  which  we  live ;  that's 

settled,  and  it's  clear 
A  week  or  two  will  find  our  goods  before  the 

auctioneer ; 
And  soon  we'll  have  no  house  or  home,  in  which 

we'll  care  to  stay, 
Until  we  settle  down  for  good  in  Phil-a-del- 

phi-a. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  67 

'Tis  probable  that  I  will  leave  about  the  first  of 

June, 
But  Addie  and  the  little  one  will  not  go  down  so 

soon; 
They'll  visit  'round  a  month  or  so  —  go  here  and 

there  a  day; 
Will  sponge,  and  then  invite  the  friends  to  Phil- 

a-del-phi-a. 

Of  course,  it's  hard  to  leave  the  friends  so  long 

"  beneath  our  eye," 
And  know  the  parting's  bad  enough  "  to  make  a 

body  cry;" 

But  then,  with  steam  facilities,  it's  not  so  far  away, 
From  native  town,  or  Sturgeondom,  to  Phil-a- 

del-phi-a. 

Now,  Sister  Real,  (and  Henry,  too,)  please  bear 

the  fact  in  mind, 
You'll  find  the  latch-string  hanging  out  whenever 

you're  inclined 
To  visit  brother  Welly's  folks,  for  profit  or  for 

Play, 
Way  down  among  the  Quaker-folks,  in  Phil-a- 

del-phi-a. 


68  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

TO     CHARLES     WENDELL. 
[Philadelphia,  Sept.  1, 1870.] 

Dear  Charley,  my  Cousin,  I'm  really  afraid 
Something  serious  will  follow  the  effort  you  made 
To  write  Cousin  Welly,  in  measure  sublime, 
And  dress  it  so  neatly  in  figures  and  rhyme. 

Since  reading  it,  Charley,  I'm  prone  to  believe 
By  a  little  more  practice  you  would  surely  achieve 
The  Laureate's  title,  his  crook  and  the  gown, 
And  a  roosting  place  clear  on  the  hill  of  Renown. 

Now  Charley,  stick  to  it !  methinks  that  afar 
I  see  a  faint  glimmer  —  it  must  be  a  Star  ! 
Yes  !  and  of  the  first  magnitude  !  Poets,  arise  ! 
And  hail  the  new  comer  —  the  Queen  of  the  skies ! 

But,  joking  aside,  Coz,  I  thank  you,  and  pray 
That  more  such  effusions  may  travel  this  way; 
For  it  cheers  my  lone  heart !  and,  perusing,  I  fain 
Would  imagine  I'm  chatting  with  Charley  again. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  69 

Your  efforts  most  surely  are  worthy  of  praise 
In  bringing  so  brightly  the  Star  from  the  haze ; 
And,  if  only  the  clouds  of  vexation  would  stay 
From  its  face  in  the  future,  there's  nought  in 
the  way. 


I  am  plodding  as  usual  for  comfort  and  bread  — 
Taking  two  steps  to  rear  for  each  one  put  ahead. 
There's  a  sweet  consolation  for  mortals  we 

know  — 
That  is  —  "  over  the  river  "  it  never  is  so. 


"We  are  well  (that's  a  blessing),  but  so  lonesome 

without 

The  kind  and  dear  friends  we  were  circled  about, 
That  the  days  come  and  go  like  the  snail  from 

his  shell, 
And  lonesome,  so  lonesome's  the  story  we  tell. 


You  are  coming  to  see  us,  that's  settled  it  seems, 
But  WHEN  ?  is  the  realization  of  dreams ; 
Make  it  soon  —  for  it's  better  the  sooner  you  start, 
For  we've  been  now  too  long  from  each  other 
apart. 


70  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Our  route  of  procession  and  order  of  dress 
Will  be  fully  announced   through  the  secular 

press, 
Take  in  the  Mint  (julep);  then,  "  rounding  the 

horn," 
We'll  look  at  the  cradle  where  Freedom  was  born. 


Fairmount  and  the  Park,  Girard  College,  and  all 
Of  the  other  big  sights  must  come  in  for  a  call ; 
And  after  we're  seen,  even  down  to  the  least, 
We'll  partake  of  a  catfish  and  cantelope  feast. 

But,  resuming  the  serious  —  dear  Charley,  I  say, 

Couldn't  you  possibly  mention  the  day 

When  you  and  your  better  half  (bless  her  dear 

heart) 
Will  be  ready  to  tie  up  your  bundle  and  start  ? 

Thanks  for  your  letter  —  please  write  me  another 

one 

Fully  as  long  and  as  sharp  as  the  other  one. 
Long  may  your    "  x-  "    in  its  glory  ascend — 
And  now  a  good  night  to  you,  Charley,  my  friend. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  71 


KEEP    PACE    WITH    THE    TIMES. 

Keep  pace  with  the  times  !  let  the  fogies  delay 
At  the  year  ago  fountain  that  sets  by  the  way ; 
Drink  you  from  the  water  that,  crystal  and  cool, 
Progression  provides  Young  America's  school. 


Keep  pace  with  the  times !  let  the  days  that  are 
gone 

In  remembrance  be  dear  —  in  remembrance 
alone ; 

And  with  cheerfulness  clear  all  the  clogs  from  the 
way 

That  would  cumber  the  route  of  Progression  to- 
day. 

Keep  pace  with  the  times !  get  the  best  on  the 

wing  — 

The  new,  with  improvements,  in  everything ; 
Look  about  for  yourself —  nor  let  fogies  instil 
Their  old-fashioned  notions  to  muddle  your  will. 


72  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Keep  pace  with  the  times !  the  -new  Howe  is  the 

queen 

Of  the  family —  the  Sewing  Machine  ; 
All  others  must  bow,  for  the  fiat  is  out  — 
"  The  old  cannot  live  when  the  new  is  about." 


Keep  pace  with  the  times  !  the  FEW  HOWE  MA- 
CHINE 

Comes  greeting,  like  sunlight,  and  throws,  by  its 
sheen 

Of  marvelous  beauty  and  wonderful  deeds, 

A  light  from  which  folly  and  fogy  recedes. 


Keep  pace  with  the  times  !  do  not  tarry  or  wait 
To  look  at  the  old  things  that  lie  at  the  gate ; 
Haste  to  gaze  on  the  new,  and  we'll  warrant  you'll 

say, 
"  I  am  glad  that  I  waited  to  purchase  to-day." 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  73 


I'D    RATHER. 

I'd  rather  shake  the  hardened  hand, 

Whose  callous  comes  from  honest  labor, 

Than  own  the  love  that  seeks  to  stand 
Above  my  earnest  neighbor. 

I'd  rather  claim  companionship 

With  honest  hearts  in  rags  and  stitches, 

Than  ape  the  way,  or  court  the  lip, 
Of  "  upper-ten"'  and  riches. 

I'd  rather  deal  with  one  who  strives 

Through  working  days  to  merit  Heaven, 

Than  trade  with  those  who  all  their  lives 
Crowd  labor  in  the  seven. 

I'd  rather  have  a  country  smile  — 

Although  it  comes  from  hoopless  Molly  — 

Than  bear  a  kiss  from  "  latest  style," 
With  furbelows  and  folly. 

April  1,  1867. 

10 


74  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


BACHELOR'S     HALL. 

Up  two  pair  of  stairs,  turn  a  corner  or  two, 
Eyes  right,  lest  perchance  you  encounter  a  fall, 

In  tenement  four  enter  softly,  and  you 
Are  within  the  elysium  —  Bachelor's  Hall. 


Examine  minutely  each  object  you  see, 
From  pipes  on  the  stove  to  the  boots  on  the 

stand, 

And  I  ween,  to  a  man,  that  your  verdict  will  be, 
"  Not  a  thing  has  been  touched  by  a  feminine 
hand." 


Here's  a  cassimer  coat  sprawling  out  on  the  floor, 
With    pockets    perfumed  with    tobacco   and 

"  sich ;  " 
Where  eight  buttons  should  be,  you'll  discover 

but  four, 
And  many  a  place  where  is  needed  a  stitch. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  75 

Next,  over  the  mirror,  all  reeking  with  dirt  — 
A  stranger  for  weeks  to  the  wash-woman's 

tub  — 
Hangs  that  glorious    symbol  —  the   bachelor's 

shirt  — 
A  token  of  league  with  the  "  Bachelor  Club." 


That  vast  "  curiosity  shop"  you  observe, 
Is  the  cupboard  —  a  capital  vermin  retreat ; 

Index  what  you  find,  and  its  contents  will  serve 
As  a  model  of  every-thing  else  you  may  meet. 


In  short,  in  the  room,  from  one  end  to  the  other, 
Dirt  is  monarch  of  all,  and  disorder  is  rife ; 

And  we're  thankful  that  fate,  with  the  hand  of  a 

mother, 
Has  led  us  away  from  a  Bachelor's  life. 

ALBANY,  Nov.  20, 1859. 


76  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


A    BACHELOR. 

You  been  in  love  —  a  bachelor!  I'll  bet  the 
hock  and  soda  you've  merely  been  a  parasite, 
and  shaken  for  a  toady.  The  passion  that  you 
so  mistook  for  love's  enchanting  power,  was  self- 
conceit  —  the  rankest  weed  that  struts  the  human 
bower.  It's  evident,  from  what  you  say,  that 
Mature  played  the  wizard,  in  putting  where  your 
heart  should  be,  a  lump  of  fat  and  gizzard.  Be- 
gone ye  to  your  den  and  get  your  cats  and  dogs 
about  you ;  your  "  fifty  loves"  have  doubtless 
found  they're  better  off  without  you.  And  may 
Old  Time  quick  take  you  in,  and  plant  you  from 
the  weather ;  for  sure  a  man  with  "  fifty  loves" 
is  ripe  enough  to  gather. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  77 


A    LESSON 

FROM  THE  GLASS  STEAM-ENGINE. 

[Prize  Poem  for  which  was  awarded  a  Case  of  Glass 
Ornaments.] 

"  Man,  know  thyself"  — all  Nature's  ways 
Bespeak  a  lesson,  from  whose  page 

Man's  mind  may  learn,  throughout  his  days, 
The  beauties  of  the  living  age. 


So  Science,  Lit'rature  and  Art 
In  varied  chapters  strive  to  show 

The  onward  promptings  of  the  heart, 
That  man  himself  might  better  know. 


Within  this  gem  of  crystal  light  — 
This  sport  of  Fancy's  magic  hand  — 

This  fount  of  knowledge  and  delight 
To  old  and  young  throughout  the  land 


78  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Is  blended,  in  harmonious  tone, 

The  wondrous  with  the  most  sublime, 

And  much  that  Art  and  Science  own 
Commingles  in  this  fairy-shrine. 

Not  like  the  glass  that  but  reflects 
The  shadow  and  the  shape  alone, 

And  curtains  all  the  sad  defects 

That  long  within  the  heart  have  grown  — 

But  like  the  mystic  glass  portrays 
The  inner  man  unmasked,  and  tells 

How  man  should  guard  throughout  his  days 
The  temple  where  the  spirit  dwells. 

0,  gem  of  art,  each  throbbing  beat 
That  sends  thy  crystal  arrows  out, 

Dispels  all  thought  of  vain  deceit, 
And  leaves  no  witnesses  in  doubt. 

Like  thee,  may  soon  our  Country  stand 
United  —  one,  in  peace  and  power ; 

Like  thee  may  palsied  be  the  hand 
That  dares  to  smite  it  from  that  hour. 

Dec.  27,  1861. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  79 


CONQUEST  OF  THE  CONQUEROR. 

The  shields  of  Philosophy,  Science  and  Art 
Have  often  been  used  in  defying  the  dart 
From  the  strong  bow  of  Love ;  but  they  never 

would  do, 
For  the  metal,  though  strong,  let  the  arrow  go 

through. 

Some  centuries  back  (so  the  story  is  told) 
Aristotle  was  striving  by  method  to  mould 
The  mind  of  a  pupil  —  and  here  let  us  state, 
That  pupil  became  Alexander  the  Great. 

Aristotle  could  brook  no  intrusion  from  Love, 
Deeming  one  so  afflicted  but  little  above 
The  stratum  of  idiots  hard  to  impress 
With  truths  so  essential  to  honor'd  success. 

Somehow,  with  his  lessons  of  wisdom  and  art, 
The  subtle  admixture  of  love  from  the  heart 
"Was  blended,  which  tended,  the  teacher  averred 
To  keep  from  the  pupil  what  study  conferred. 


80  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Alexander  —  rebuked  for  his  want  of  a  will, 

In  yielding  his  heart  to  the  masterly  skill 

Of  Love  —  sought  revenge,  and  the  teacher,  they 

say, 
Was  treated  the  Homeopathical  way.  - 

One  day  Alexander  had  managed  to  place 

In  position  that  ranged  with  the  eye  and  the  face, 

The  lady  and  great  Aristotle  the  sage, 

And  left  for  her  eyes  the  whole  battle  to  wage. 

The  lady,  as  worthy  a  daughter  of  Eve 
As  ever  has  caused  a  poor  Adam  to  grieve, 
Decided  to  prove  the  decree  but  a  whim 
By  making  a  public  example  of  him. 

The  battery  opens  !  The  tongue  and  the  eyes 
Send  a  legion  to  take  the  stronghold  by  surprise  ; 
And  soon,  in  the  wreck  of  the  adamant  wall, 
Lay  Science,  Philosophy,  teacher  and  all. 

The  next  cruel  step  in  the  conquering  plan 
Was  to  make  for  her  service  a  beast  of  the  man ; 
And  demand,  as  a  proof  of  his  love  and  esteem, 
A  ride  on  his  back  in  the  garden  at  e'en. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  81 

Acquiescing,  providing  some  suitable  guise 
And  seclusion   should  keep  from  the  vulgarly 

eyes 

A  scene  so  abasing  to  prudence  and  pride, 
He'd  be  the  Pegasus  for  Thalia  to  ride. 

On  his  hands  and  his  feet,  at  the  beck  of  an  elf, 
Aristotle,  for  Love,  made  a  horse  of  himself; 
Bore  the  saddle  and  bit,  with  the  lady  as  well, 
'Till  a  loud,  ringing  laugh  woke  him  out  from 
the  spell. 

Alexander,  sub  rosa,  had  drunk  with  his  eyes 
This  webbing  of  Love  for  a  sage  and  a  prize ; 
"Withheld  for  a  season  the  gushing  of  mirth, 
But  the  fountain  o'erflowed,  giving  laughter  a 
birth. 

It  has  ever  been  thus,  we  are  prone  to  believe, 
Since  Adam  partook  of  the  apple  with  Eve ; 
Neither  Science,  Philosophy,  Power  nor  Pride 
Can  cast  all  the  arrows  of  Cupid  aside. 


11 


82  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


IT'S  THE  FASHION,  DON'T  YOU  KNOW? 

What  on  earth  can  be  the  matter  —  why  this  whispering 

and  clatter  — 
Like  the  flow  and  ebbing  patter  of  the  rain  upon  the 

roof  — 
"When  we  ladies  at  the  fading  of  the  sun  are  promenading, 

Or  in  quiet  esplanading  from  the  masculines  aloof? 
Can  it  be  the  conversation  of  the  male  denomination, 

Taking  off"  abomination"  in  the  way  we  dress  for  show  ? 
If  in  this  they  find  a  cancer,  we  will  furnish  them  a  lancer 
In  a  short  but  common  answer —  "  It's  the  fashion,  don't 
you  know  ? " 


Though  our  cheek  the  hue  of  roses  fresh  from  where  the 

dew  reposes, 
Still  they  turn  their  haughty  noses  —  say  "  it's  nature  not 

at  all;" 
And  they  think  they're  deuced  clever  when  at  punning 

they  endeavor 

Thus  to  question,  "  Did  you  ever  see  a  horse-hair  water- 
fall ?  " 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  83 

Up !  to  arms !  the  foe's  before  us  —  keep  the  wave  from 

dashing  o'er  us, 

Let's  repeat  the  mighty  chorus  that  shall  echo  as  we  go, 
"  All  the  mascu-fe-ning  gender  —  old  or  middle,  aged  or 

tender  — 

Must  receive  the  charge  we  render  —  "It's  the  fashion, 
don't  you  know  ?  " 


Though  we  rack  our  brains  with  scheming — lie  awake 

for  fear  of  dreaming 
Something  that  would  be  demeaning  to   our  modern 

views  of  dress, 
Still  our  modest "  quick-accusing  "  can't  prevent  the  blush 

suffusing 
While  they  whisper,  "  You  are  using  none  too  much  — 

don't  make  it  less." 
Well,  there's  not  a  use  of  sighing  —  let  them  go  on  with 

their  dye-ing, 
We've  a  cause,  there's  no  denying  —  and  we'll  plainly 

tell  them  so ; 
Hark !  its  echo  still  is  sounding  —  from  the  hill  tops  hear 

it  bounding, 

Ev'ry  masculine  surrounding, "  It's  the  fashion,  don't  you 
know  ?  " 


84  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


THE    DOLLAR-MARK. 

Money  is  mighty  !  Figures  look  charmlessly 
Unless  they  are  faced  with  a  dollar-mark ; 

Even  the  arrows  of  Justice  fall  harmlessly 
Before  the  bold  throne  of  a  dollar-mark. 

"  Twenty  thousand"  looks  large  when  you  write  it, 

And  sounds  big  to  hear  one  recite  it ; 

But  to  know  of  its  power,  unite  it 

And  call  it  your  own  —  with  a  dollar -mark. 

Passion  can  toy  with  a  being  at  pleasure, 
Backed  by  the  mystical  dollar-mark, 

Send  a  death  missile,  and  then,  at  its  leisure, 
Sail  on  the  wings  of  a  dollar-mark. 

Then  with  a  patience  awaiting 

While  the  law's  clamor's  abating  — 

Eesting  assured  that  a  sating 

Comes  with  the  sign  of  a  dollar-mark. 

Pardons  and  Poverty  seldom  affiliate, 
Much  from  the  want  of  a  dollar-mark ; 

Justice  and  Morcy  will  rarely  conciliate 
Those  who  are  short  of  the  dollar-mark. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  85 

If  a  man  errs  in  society, 
Stoops  to  partake  of  variety, 
Few  there  are  question  his  piety 
"While  he  possesses  the  dollar-mark. 

But  there's  an  ending  in  ev'ry  one's  history  — 
FINIS,  as  well,  to  the  dollar-mark ; 

Yes,  and  the  key  to  the  portals  of  mystery 
Never's  betrayed  for  a  dollar-mark. 

Justice,  Beyond,  is  non-buyable ; 

Judgment,  Beyond,  is  not  pliable  ; 

Sentence  is  sure  and  reliable, 
Even  for  lords  of  the  dollar-mark. 

May  19, 1871. 


MONTOWESE    NARROWS; 

OB, 

THE  LEAP  FOR  LIFE. 
With  "  Dried  Huckleberry  "  Variations. 

Ealph  !  noble  heart  —  with  dreams  averse 
To  sport  as  found  in  city's  din  — 

Seeks  Branford  as  vacation's  nurse 
For  recreations  free  from  sin. 


86  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Now  Sarah,  visiting  the  place, 

Is  sought  by  one  like  Ealph  of  old, 

Who  reads  within  her  smiling  face 
A  story  that  is  quickly  told. 


"  To  horse  !  to  horse  —  let's  take  a  *  stray' 
O'er  Nature's  paths  —  through  blest  retreats," 

Says  Ealph  —  while  Sarah's  willing  way 
The  invitation  quick  repeats. 

So  haps  it  that,  while  driving  gay 

For  Indian  Neck  in  merry  ease, 
They  needs  must  pass  the  "  narrow  way" 

Near  by  the  boarding  "  Montowese." 

Scarce  room  for  one  —  another  team 
Must  pass  their  own  —  with  fear  intense 

"  Whoa  !  back  !  "  says  Ralph  —  and  like  a  stream 
They  rushed  the  chaise  agiri  the  fence. 

With  view  to  make  discretion's  claim 

The  better  part  of  valor's  worth, 
Miss  Sarah  sought,  and  not  in  vain, 

A  solid  footing  on  the  earth. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  87 

Poor  Ealph,  more  scared  than  hurt,  soon  brought 
The  "  rig"  to  rights  upon  the  road, 

When,  just  as  any  fellow  ought, 
Replaced  his  pale  yet  precious  load. 

North  Branford  reached  —  Ralph,  leaving  S., 
Strays  forth  in  search  of  water  pure 

To  quiet  Sarah's  nervousness, 
And  test  the  praise  of  water  cure. 

A  house  near  by,  suggests  the  thought 
The  beverage  might  be  tendered  him  — 

A  rap  —  "  hallo !  "  —  no  answer  brought  — 
Nor  cup  to  draw  the  water  in. 

Undaunted,  Ralph  searched  low  and  high, 

And  not  an  effort  went  untried  ; 
Alas  !  no  fruit  could  he  espy, 

Excepting  "  huckleberries"  dried. 


So  takes  he  to  the  waiting  S.  — 
In  place  of  what  he  could  not  raise  — 

The  berries  for  her  nervousness 

While  riding  in  the  pleasure  chaise. 


88  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Who  says  no  virtue  can  be  squeezed 
From  "  huckleberries"  ripe  and  dried, 

Who  says  a  lady  can't  be  pleased 
With  "  huckleberries"  —  never  tried. 


CONEY    ISLAND. 

(Am. —  "  Tramp,  Tramp. ") : 

When  the  world  is  all  astir, 

All  confusion,  all  a  whirr, 
When  the  tortured  brain  by  not  a  breeze  is  fanned, 

What  a  feeling  of  relief, 

Though  the  time  be  only  brief, 
"Tis  to  saunter  down  to  Coney  Island  strand. 

CHORUS. 

Come,  come,  come  and  let's  be  marching, 

We'll  all  be  cheery  evermore, 
And  we'll  make  the  welkin  ring 
While  our  merry  songs  we  sing 

Of  our  journey  down  to  Coney  Island  shore. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  89 

"We  will  not  forget  the  day 
When  we  traveled  o'er  the  way 

In  the  open  car  —  a  joyous  little  band; 
How  delightful  was  the  ride 
As  we  followed  with  the  tide 

That  was  bound  for  fun  and  Coney  Island  strand. 

What  a  feeling  of  delight, 

As  the  ocean  came  in  sight, 
And  the  sun  its  splendors  painted  on  the  sand  ! 

Oh !  'tis  nearly  perfect  bliss 

To  forget  the  world  for  this, 
And  to  think  alone  of  Coney  Island  strand  ! 

Lay  aside  the  neat  attire 

That  at  home  we  much  admire, 
Hook  the  door  that  shuts  us  in  and  others  out, 

Don  the  bathing  dress  of  blue, 

And,  whatever  else  we  do, 
Be  assured  the  hooks  and  buttons  are  about. 

Now,  within  the  sporting  wave, 
How  the  dancing  breakers  lave, 
As  they  dash  above  our  heads  to  reach  the  shore ! 
Oh  !  we  never  can  forget, 
As  the  crested  lines  we  met, 

How  they  tumbled  all  the  party  o'er  and  o'er  ! 
12 


90  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Not  a  king  upon  his  throne  — 
Not  a  beggar  at  his  bone  — 

Not  a  devotee  of  Fashion  in  the  land, 
Ever  knew  the  half  of  joy  — 
Undefiled,  without  alloy  — 

Such  as  bathers  find  on  Coney  Island  strand. 

Thera,  self  and  Kitty  D., 

Allen,  too,  and  Linda  C., 
We'll  remember,  as  old  Time  is  going  o'er, 

How  the  pleasant  day  was  passed 

(Hope  it  will  not  be  the  last) 
As  we  journeyed  down  to  Coney  Island  shore. 


FOR    THE    FUN    OF    THE    THING. 

Of  course,  like  the  rest  of  the  masculine  race, 
"When  a  mustache  had  bloomed  on  my  innocent 

face, 

I  presumed  I'd  a  right,  with  unlimited  swing, 
To  flirt  with  the  girls  for  the  fun  of  the  thing. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  91 

Arabella  was  sweet — such  a  winsome  physique  — 
Comporting  so  nicely  with  every-thing  "  meek  "  — 
Just  humbled  my  spirit,  thus  clipping  my  wing, 
And  I  married  the  lass  for  the  fun  of  the  thing. 

Ah  !  lackaday !  wo,  me  !  each  loving  caress 
Interpreted,  cost  me  a  "  duck  of  a  dress ;  " 
Phlebotomy  tapped  at  the  purse,  and  the  string 
Gave  way  at  each  call  for  the  fun  of  the  thing. 


THE     POWER    OF    EXAMPLE. 

AN  ARAB  TALE. 

Nabec,  an  Arab  of  that  moving  race 
Who  make  the  desert  their  abiding  place, 
Possessed  a  mare,  whose  value  far  outshone, 
To  him,  all  wealth  of  gold  or  precious  stone. 

One  Daher  long  had  coveted  the  mare, 
Had  offered  Nabec  all  his  worldly  share 
Of  camels,  silks  and  riches,  not  the  least, 
To  call  his  own  the  "  Pride  of  all  the  east." 


92  MISCELLANEOUS  POEJIS. 

But  Nabec  loved  his  desert  beauty  more 
Than  Daher's  camels,  silks,  or  worldly  store ; 

So  turned  to  all  his  offers  for  a  trade 
A  deafened  ear.     But  other  plans  were  laid 
By  Daher,  whereby  he  could  surely  gain 
The  prize,  though  honest  offers  were  in  vain. 

"  I'll  straightway  dye  my  skin  another  hue, 
Gird  round  my  legs  a  filthy  rag  or  two, 
Then  by  the  road,  with  feign'd  distress  and  grief, 
Will  wait,  like  crippled  beggar,  coming  of  relief." 

Thus  wily  Daher,  garbed  in  rags  and  dyed, 
Sits  by  the  road,  with  crutches  by  his  side, 
And  eagerly  awaits,  with  straining  eyes, 
The  coming  Kabec  and  the  coming  prize. 

Lo !  Nabec  comes. 


"  I'm  stranger,  poor,  you  see, 

Three  days  have  passed  and  brought  no  food  for 

me, 

Unable,  being  weak  with  sores  and  grief, 
To  look  for  aid,  for  comfort  or  relief." 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  93 

Good  !N"abec  needs  no  other  rod  to  touch 
His  heart,  than  sickness  and  a  crutch ; 
So  straightway  lifts  the  beggar  from  the  track, 
And  places  him  upon  the  horse's  back. 


When  Daher's  hand  had  grasped  the  bridle  rein, 
By  speed  he  hoped  to  reach  the  open  plain, 
"While  Nabec  stood  like  one  within  a  trance, 
Possessed  of  nothing  but  his  trusty  lance, 
And    heard  these    words   from    pseudo-beggar 

thief: 

"  Lo !  Daher  wins  !  I  leave  you  in  your  grief; 
I've  got  the  mare  — I'll  ride  about  at  ease, 
Go  here  and  there,  or  anywhere  I  please." 


"  Stay  !  "  Nabec  cries,  "pray  list  what  I've  to  say: 
Thou  hast  my  mare  to  carry  thee  away ; 
Allah  so  wills,  else  sure  it  would  not  be : 
Therefore  I  wish  thee  peace,  prosperity. 
But,  I  entreat  thee,  guard  thyself  with  care, 
Nor  tell  to  any  how  thou  got'st  the  mare." 

"  And,  pray,"  says  Daher,  "  why  should  I  withhold 
This  method  from  the  ears  of  young  and  old  ?  " 


94  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

"  Because,  forsooth,  some  Arab,  poor  indeed, 
Sick,  sore  and  weary,  truthfully  in  need, 
Might  fall  beside  the  way,  implore  thine  arm 
To  help  him  home  from  danger  and  from  harm, 
And  thou   might'st  spurn   him,  harboring  the 

thought, 

He  puts  to  practice,  what  myself  hath  taught. 
Thus  would  the  hand  of  charity  be  stayed, 
Through  fear  that  want  was  but  a  mask  that 

played 

Upon  the  chords  within  a  tender  heart, 
And  help  the  rogue  to  get  an  easy  start." 

And  Daher,  struck  with  Nabec's  wise  address, 
Gave  back  the  mare,  and,  ready  to  confess, 
Embraced  the  wronged,  and  vowed,  for  time  to 

come, 
To  prove  himself  a  worthy  Arab  son. 


THE     "YANKEE    PASS." 

One  Sabbath  morn,  some  sixty  years  ago, — 
"When  "  going  west"  was  limited,  you  know, 
To  Genesee,  —  two  Yankees  from  a  "  bout" 
Were  coming  east  by  Mohawk  Valley  route. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  95 

At  early  dawn  they'd  started  on  their  way, 

Regardless  that  'twas  Holy  Sabbath  day, 

When,  driving  near  to  Squire  Staring's  door, 

An  order  came  they'd  never  heard  before  : 

"  By  virtue  of  mine  office  and  mine  oath, 

I  now  command  and  order  that  you  both 

Get  off  dose  horses,  for  mine  bapers  say 

I  mustn't  let  you  travel  on  dis  day." 

"  That's  plaguy  hard,"  one  Yankee  quick  replied, 

"  We've  been  from  hum  so  long ;  and  then,  beside, 

We've  met  with  none  but  Indians  and  the  Dutch, 

Whose  conversation  didn't  cheer  us  much. 

To  be  obleeged  to  stop  our  travel  now, 

Is  raither  worse  than  all  the  rest,  I  swow." 

"  Yes,"  says  the  smaller  of  the  two, 

"  We  mustn't  stop,  for,  surely,  if  we  do 

We  cannot  pay —  our  purse  is  very  lean  — 

One  dollar  and  a  single  pistareen." 

Old  Squire  saw  that,  if  they  spoke  aright, 

It  would  not  pay  to  keep  them  over  night. 

His  itching  palm  and  heart  so  merciless 

Much  longed  the  Yankees'  dollar  to  possess ; 

So,  sitting  down  with  them  upon  the  grass, 

He  promised  them  an  "  unmolesting"  Pass, 

Providing  they  were  willing  to  expend 

Their  dollar  for  so  privileged  an  end. 


96  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

To  this  they  both  agreed,  and  quickly  went 
"With  Squire  S.  to  get  the  document. 
Now  shrewd  old  Squire,  with  sordidnessof  heart, 
"Was  not  expert  in  calligraphic  art, 
And  Hans,  his  son,  whom  honest  people  claim 
Did  all  the  Squire's  writing  but  the  name, 
Was  gone  from  home;  so,  turning  to  the  men, 
He  said :  "  May  be,  sirs,  you  can  use  the  pen, 
And  write  the  Pass,  for  with  my  name  I  know 
You'll  travel  free  wherever  you  may  go. 
I  charges  but  one  dollar,  which  you  see 
Is  what  the  law  allows  me  as  a  fee." 
The  Yankees  bowed  assent,  and  with  a  will 
Soon  did  the  task,  and,  laying  by  the  quill, 
Took  up  the  Pass,  and  in  a  hurried  tone 
Read  what  the  Squire  thought  the  quill  had  done. 
The  magistrate,  (like  many  now-a-days,) 
Gave  "  honesty"  to  any  man  who  pays, 
Pronounced  it  right  and  wrote  upon  the  same 
What  no  one  doubted  was.the  Squire's  name. 
The  fee  was  paid,  and,  with  a  quick  "  good  day," 
Our  Yankees  started  on  their  eastern  way ; 
Whi-le  Squire  chuckled  o'er  his  piece  of  "  tin," 
And  how  he'd  taken  two  more  Yankees  in. 
A  few  miles  down  the  Mohawk  river's  shore 
Our  Yankees  stopped  to  rest  themselves,  but  more 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  97 

To  turn  the  "  Pass"  from  paper  into  gold, 
And  leave  a  record  of  a  "  Dutchman  sold." 
Some  months  elapsed,  when  Squire  happ'ning  in 
The  store  of  Kanes,  the  village  merchant-man, 
Was  shown  an  order,  and  upon  the  same, 
What,  unmistaking  was  the  Squire's  name  ; 
"  Pay  'Zekiel  Bartlett  and  to  Samuel  Rice 
One  hundred  dollars,  and  this  will  suffice 
To  make  you  whole,  whenever  you  present 
Your  claim  for  cash  upon  the  document." 
At  first  the  Squire  cast  the  thing  aside 
As  "  goot  for  nix,"  "  the  cussed  paper  lied," 
And  various  other  Deutscher  epithets 
Found  ventilation,  mingled  in  with  threats ; 
Then  came  a  lull  and  cogitating  vein, 
While  Squire  scanned  the  pesky  thing  again, 
Gave  vent  to  oath  and  to  the  words  "  Alas  ! 
I  knows  him  now  —  that  tam-ed  Yankee  Pass." 

The  sequel  proves,  as  true  as  Holy  Writ, 
That  oftentimes  the  "biter"  will  get  bit; 
And  though  a  man  may  claim  the  Tartar  fast, 
May  find  himself  the  Tartar's  man  at  last. 


18 


98  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


A     FAIR    OFFER 

PROM  JOHN  BULL  TO  MISS  COLUMBIA. 

Shall  we  kiss  and  be  friends  ?    Why  not  sister  Columbia, 
No  more  ugly  faces  let  you  and  me  pull ; 

Though   we  both   have   our   tempers,  our   worries   and 

troubles, 
Let  "  bygones  be  bygones  "  for  me  says  John  Bull. 


You  must  own  that  you've  given  me  a  deal  of  bad  language, 
And  have  been  far  too  free  with  your  bunkum  and  brag ; 

That  I'll  pocket,  if  now,  like  a  sensible  woman, 

You'll  disclaim  your  friend  Wilkes,  and  salute  the  old 


Fools  may  sneer  and  call  family  feelings  all  humbug, 
But  I  feel  that  one  blood  in  the  veins  of  us  flows ; 

Our  tongues  are  the  same,  though  I  don't  like  your  fashion 
Of  talking  (as  you'd  make  me  pay)  through  the  nose. 


We  snarled  and  we  scratched  in  the  days  of  our  folly, 
When  you  wanted  to  leave  me  and  start  for  yourself; 

To  think  of  those  times  makes  me  quite  melancholy  — 
The  blood  that  we  wasted  —  the  temper  and  pelf! 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  99 

When  I  vowed  I'd  tame  you,  and  make  you  knock  under, 
And  you  dared  me,  and  bit  like  a  vixen  as  well; 

I  did  think  by  this  time  we  had  both  seen  our  blunder ; 
Meant  to  live  as  good  friends,  and  in  peace  buy  and 
sell. 


But  of  late  I  can't  think  what  the  deuce  has  come  o'er 

you; 
First  you  turn  your  own  house  out  of  the  window  and 

then 

Declare  that  I  want  to  o'er-reach  you  and  floor  you  — 
Stop  my  ship,  seize  my  passengers,  bully  my  men  ! 


I  can  stand  a  great  deal  from  my  own  blood  relations, 
And  I  know  that  your  troubles   your  temper   have 
soured ; 

But  I  can't  take  a  blow,  in  the  face  of  all  nations, 
And  consent  to  see  law  by  brute  force  overpowered. 


Only  own  your  friend  Wilkes  is  a  blundering  bully, 
And  make  over  Mason  and  Slidell  to  me, 

And  all  that  is  past  I'll  condone  fair  and  fully, 
Kiss  you  now,  and  in  future,  I  do  hope  agree. 

—  London  Punch. 


100  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


KEPLY 

OP  MISS  COLUMBIA  TO  JOHN  BULL. 

I'll  accept,  brother  John,  of  your  proffered  re- 
union, 

By  tendering  kisses  for  every  blow, 
With  the  prayers  of  my  children,  in  thankfulness 

given, 

That  the  "  squabble"  has  caused  not  a  blood- 
drop  to  flow. 


But  I  vow,  brother  John,  you've  a  deal  of  the 
"  brazen," 

In  playing  the  plaintiff  with  blustering  grace, 
And  declaring  with  spleriitive  flashes,  that  sooner 

Than  grant  me  a  favor,  you'll  spit  in  my  face. 


O,  yes,  brother  John,  I  remember  the  snarling 
And  scratching  and  biting  by  you  rudely  done, 

When  yet  but  an  infant  I  battled  your  legions, 
And  swore,  though  an  infant,  to  "  go  it  alone." 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  101 

I  know,  brother  John,  what  has  caused  the  re- 
action, 

And  stirred  up  the  bile  that  so  sourly  fills 
You  to  day  —  not  the  want  of  a  feeling, 

But  the  want  of  my  cotton  for  running  your 
mills. 


Now,  my  dear  brother  John,  it  illy  becomes  you 
To  don  with  bravado  the  mien  of  a  saint, 

And  prate  with  such  gusto,  my  battle  for  Union 
Is  coupled  with  horrors,  no  mortal  can  paint. 


0,  for  shame,  brother  John,  let  your  little 
"  Lord"  Russell 

Hide  his  head,  which  is  nearly  of  reason  bereft, 
While  we  read  the  black  page  of  your  India  tussel, 

In  the  letters  he  penned  and  the  record  he  left. 


Though  we  seek,  brother  John,  to  preserve  a 
relation 

Of  amity  with  you  for  ages  to  come, 
You  can  not,  by  Bull-ying,  break  up  oar  nation, 

Or  cause  a  relax  till  our  labor  is  done. 


102  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


ACROSTIC. 

Sweet  to  love  when  every  token, 
Tried  by  friendship  still  unbroken, 
Over  ills  the  most  provoking,  conquering  with  a 

magic  power, 

Round  thy  name  a  memory  clingeth, 
Radiating  light  it  bringeth, 
Sorrow  fades  when  friendship  singe th,  "  Love  me 
from  this  hour." 


OLD    PAT    IS    DEAD! 

Poor  Dog  "  Pat."  —  General  grief  is  expressed  over  the  death 
of  this  poor  canine,  whose  familiar  face,  for  upwards  of 
twelve  years,  has  greeted  the  guests  at  the  Stanwix  and  Mer- 
chants' Hotels.  "  Pat"  was  known  to  many  of  the  traveling 
public,  by  whom  his  demise,  at  the  age  of  17,  will  be  as  deeply 
felt,  as  by  the  author  of  the  following  lines,  dedicated  to  the 
memory  of  "  Pat,"  who  has  gone  to  join  "  Poor  Dog  Tray:" 

Old  Pat  is  dead !  Old  age  apace 
Crept  on,  and  gave  to  death's  embrace 
Another  dog  who'd  had  his  day, 
And  then  from  trouble  passed  away. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  103 

For  friends  Old  Pat  had  never  lacked, 
In  rat-crusades  was  freely  backed ; 
'Tis  true  at  some  he'd  bark,  but  then 
Was  always  kind  to  gentlemen. 


In  peace  Old  Pat  is  now  at  rest, 
Wo  more  to  greet  the  coming  guest, 
And  if  Dog-Heaven  can  be  found, 
You'll  find  Old  Pat  there,  running  'round. 

ALBANY,  Oct.  11, 1869. 


III.  PATRIOTIC. 


THE    SOLDIER'S    GOOD    BYE 

Good  bye  to  you,  mother ! 

Though  hard  is  the  parting  — 
Though  sad  is  the  picture 

That  gleams  in  your  eye  — 
Let  your  love  for  your  boy 

Check  the  tear  at  its  starting  — 
Here's  my  hand  with  my  heart 

To  be  faithful.     Good  bye  ! 

Good  bye  to  you,  father ! 

Remember  and  cherish 
My  vow  —  that  has  cost, 

Perhaps,  many  a  sigh  — 
To  be  zealous  and  loyal  — 

And  then,  should  I  perish, 
You'll  remember  I  died 

For  my  country.     Good  bye ! 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  105 

Good  bye  to  you,  sister  ! 

The  sun  on  the  morrow 
May  be  laden  with  gladness 

In  every  ray, 
Yet  no  joy  will  suffice 

In  dispelling  the  sorrow 
Of  thus  parting  with  you, 

My  dear  sister  to-day. 

Good  bye  to  you,  brother ! 

The  deepest  dejection 
Comes  crowding  upon  me 

In  taking  your  hand ; 
But  a  solace  I  find 

In  the  single  reflection, 
That  I  leave  you  for  service 

In  Liberty's  band. 

Good  bye  to  you,  darling  ! 

The  vows  that  we've  spoken, 
Will  be  sealed  with  my  love  for  you 

Down  in  my  breast ; 
I  hope  to  return 

With  their  pledges  unbroken, 
And  find  with  you  home 

For  a  soldier  to  rest. 
14 


106  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Good  bye  to  you,  friends  ! 

Should  my  ardent  devotion 
Decree  for  me  death 

And  a  patriot's  grave, 
You'll  remember  I  lived 

For  my  country's  promotion, 
And  died  for  the  liberty 

WASHINGTON  gave. 

ALBANY,  Oct.  18,  1861. 


THE    DYING    VOLUNTEER.  1 

Kneel  closer,  brother,  for  I  feel  my  life  is  ebbing 

fast; 
Kneel  closer,  for  to-day,  you  know,  will  surely  be 

my  last ; 

I  cannot  part,  I  cannot  die  unless  I  hear  you  tell 
That  I  have  loved  my  country  and  have  served  my 

country  well. 

1  Was  set  to  music  by  Boyd,  and  published  by  Ditson  &  Co. , 
Boston,  and  had  an  extensive  sale. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  107 

O,  could  I  hear  my  father's  voice  just  speaking 

to  me  now ; 
O,  could  I  feel  my  mother's  hand  just  laid  upon 

my  brow ; 
0,  could  my  sister's  love  but  move  this  moisture 

from  my  eye, 
I'd  ask  no  other  boon  than  this  —  then,  like  a 

soldier,  die. 

When  death  shall  still  this  throbbing  heart  and 

close  these  feeble  eyes, 
Just  promise,  brother,  ere  my  soul  departs  for 

yonder  skies, 
To  tell  my  mother  how  the  love  she  kindled  in 

my  breast, 
"When  in  the  tent  or  battle-field,  surmounted  all 

the  rest. 

Yes,  tell  her  that  her  parting  words  I  never  could 

forget ; 
I  hear  them  ringing  in  my  ears  —  I  feel  them 

burning  yet ; 
And  with  the  pledge  I  made  her  then  stepped 

boldly  in  the  strife, 
To  God  I  gave  my  heart,  and  for  my  country  gave 

my  life. 


108  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

I'm  going  home  —  not  where  the  gems  in  circles 
set  with  love, 

Are  sparkling  'round  the  parent  crown  —  but 
going  home  above ; 

Where  jewels  shine  with  richer  light,  not  bor- 
rowed from  the  sun : 

Where  blood  and  war  can  never  reach  —  the  home 
of  WASHINGTON. 

ALBANY,  Feb.  27,  1862. 


LETTER 

To  CAPT.  NELSON  0.  WENDELL.  1 
(Then  a  Non-Commissioned  Officer  in  the  44  N.  Y.  Vols.) 

ALBANY,  K  Y.,  Dec.  15th,  1861. 

DEAR  UNCLE  NELSON  : 

I  received  in  due  season,  your  last,  and  the 
reason  I've  neglected  to  answer  it  is,  by  the  way, 
that  chronic  disease  of  taking  my  ease  and  delay- 
ing 'till  morrow  the  work  of  to-day. 

1  Capt.  Nelson  O.  Wendell,  commanding  Co.  F.,  121st  N.  Y. 
Vols.,  was  killed  in  battle  at  Salem  Heights,  Va.,  on  the  3d 
of  May,  1863.  [See  Appendix.] 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  109 

But  from  you,  Uncle  Nelse,  more  than  any- 
one else,  I  love  to  receive  an  occasional  letter ; 
and  I'm  sure,  could  you  fight  as  well  as  you  write, 
our  country  would  speedily  change  for  the  better. 

In  the  army  for  right  that  is  waiting  to-night 
with  an  ardent  desire  to  grapple  the  foe ;  I  am 
sure,  not  a  man  in  our  "  Liberty's  clan"  is  im- 
bued with  a  loftier  spirit  than  you. 

I  am  happy  to  know  it  agreed  with  you  so  to 
receive  the  small  favor  we  sent  you  by  mail,  and 
we  only  regret  we  have  not  as  yet,  sent  you  some- 
thing more  comforting  "  over  the  rail." 

Our  boys  at  Fort  Pickens,  have  been  raising 
the  "  Dickens"  with  the  chivalric  (?)  sons  under 
traitorous  Bragg,  and  the  future  will  tell  how 
they  "peppered  them  well,"  while  above  them 
still  floated  America's  flag. 

I  showed  Charley  the  letter  you  wrote,  and  a 
better  and  more  punctual  nephew  he  has  promised 
to  be ;  I  suppose  you'll  believe,  if  you  ever  re- 
ceive a  letter  to  prove  what  he's  promised  to  me. 

Bert  has  written  again  and  he  says  the  camp- 
pain,  which  had  spirit  enough  but  lacked  comfort 
and  ease ;  has  most  welcomely  beat  a  rheumatic  re- 
treat and  left  him  a  master  of  elbow  and  knees. 


110  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

May  you  ever  Revere, l  and,  regardless  of  fear, 
bear  in  triumph  our  banner  all  over  the  land ; 
and,  with  Stryker, 2  we  know  you  will  foster  the 
blow  that  will  strike  her  traducers  on  every  hand. 

Both  my  wife  and  the  other  (which  used  to  be 
such  a  bother  to  you  when  you  sought  for  a 
little  respite)  say  "  please  tell  Uncle  Nell  we  are 
wishing  him  well,  and  wish  he  was  here  with  us 
sitting  to-night. 

May  the  Heavenly  arm  keep  you  safely  from 
harm ;  guide  our  army  by  land  and  our  navy  by 
sea ;  cause  rebellion  to  quake,  and  finally  make 
one  circle  of  States  as  the  home  of  the  FREE. 
Respectfully  yours, 

w.  c.  w. 


FREEDOM'S     GIFT. 

"When  the  Oak  of  the  Union  —  whose  majesty 
towers 

Above  the  dynasties  and  thrones  of  the  world  — 
First  bent  to  the  blast  of  Secession,  and  showers 

Of  wrath  by  the  minions  of  Slavery  hurled; 

1  Capt.  Revere.    "  Col.  Stryker. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  Ill 

The  Union's  defenders  in  legions  assembled 
And  planted  themselves  at  the  foot  of  the  tree, 

Proclaimed  in  a  voice,  at  which  Tyranny  trembled, 
"  All  these,  Oh  !  my  Country,  we  tender  to 
thee." 


From  the  hives  on  the   shores  of  the  mighty 

Atlantic  — 
From  the  blossoming  fields  of  the   Orient's 

pride — 

To  the  banks  where  the  new  El  Dorado  romantic 
Hurls  back  the  wild  waves  that  are  lashing  her 

side  — 

Came  the  tread  of  a  host,  through  the  Nation  re- 
sounding 
And  they  marched  'neath  the  folds  of  the  flag 

of  the  free ; 

Came  a  shout,  and  whose  echo  e'en  now  is  re- 
bounding, 

"  These  breasts,  Oh  !  my  Country,  we  offer  to 
thee." 


112  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

The  purse  of  the  "  million,"  unloosed  by  the 
thunder 

That  shook  the  foundations  of  towers  of  gold, 
Accepting  the  issue  that  rent  it  asunder, 

In  the  lap  of  the  Nation  its  power  unrolled. 
The  heart  of  the  People,  in  anticipation 

Of  a  dawning  to-morrow  from  Tyranny  free, 
Beat  time,  while  recording  its  firm  declaration, 

"  All  this,  Oh  !  my  Country,  we  offer  to  thee." 


There  is  many  a  light  from  the  cot  and  the 
palace 

Gone  out,  but  to  dazzle  in  glory  above ; 
And  many  an  offering  dropped  in  the  chalice 

With  tears  from  the  Heavenly  fountain  of  Love. 
Yet  the  bow  in  its  splendor  is  rising  before  us, 

While  Hope  buoys  the  hearts  on  the  land  and 

the  sea, 
And  the  Nation  in  harmony  joins  in  the  chorus, 

"  All  these,  Oh !  my  Country,  we  offer  to  thee." 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  113 


WHAT    THE    BOYS    IN    BLUE    SAY. 

For  the  Albany  Evening  Journal. 

Hear  what  the  boys  in  blue  say  :  "  Yes,  Treason 

is  a  crime 
That  should  he  rendered  odious  in  ev'ry  age  and 

clime ; 
And  even  death  can  scarce  efface  the  sin  —  so 

dark  its  hue." 
That's  what  the  boys  in  blue  say  —  the  nohle  boys 

in  hlue ! 


Hear  what  the  boys  in  blue  say  :  "  We've  passed 

the  stern  ordeal, 
Through  seas  of  blood  to  help  maintain   our 

blessed  country's  weal, 
We  want  no  traitor's  hand  to  guide  —  we've 

plenty  that  are  true." 
That's  what  the  boys  in  blue  say  —  the  honest 

boys  in  blue. 

15 


114  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Hear  what  the  boys  in  blue  say  :  "  What !  truckle 

at  the  shrine 
Whose  corner  stone  rests  on  the  bones  of  friends 

of  yours  and  mine  ? 
Back !   Treason !  thou  art  odious !   in  vain  to 

plead  or  sue." 
That's  what  the  boys  in  blue  say — the  trusty  boys 

in  blue. 

Hear  what  the  boys  in  blue  say :  "  These  mate- 
less  limbs  remind 

How  treason  plucked  the  life  from  out  the  ones 
we  left  behind ; 

But,  single-handed,  crutched  and  lame,  we'll  fight 
the  battle  through." 

That's  what  the  boys  in  blue  say  —  the  loyal  boys 
in  blue. 

Hear  what  the  boys  in  blue  say :  "  No  tongue 

that  murmured  '  Pause,' 
When  we  were  hurling  back  the  hosts  of  that 

unholy  cause, 
Shall  speak  for  us  in  Congress  halls,  nor  tell  us 

what  to  do." 
That's  what  the  boys  in  blue  say  —  the  sturdy 

boys  in  blue. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  115 

Hear  what  the  boys  in  blue  say  :  "  We  own  no 
kith  or  kin 

With  those  who  claim  that  Treason  is  a  pardona- 
ble sin ; 

No  !  sweep  the  monster  from  the  land  —  whatever 
else  you  do ! " 

That's  what  the  boys  in  blue  say  —  the  earnest 
boys  in  blue. 

Now  what  the  boys  in  blue  say  will  swell  the 

mighty  strain, 
Whose  primal  notes  have  just  been  heard  from 

loyal-loving  Maine ; 
And  when  November  calls  New  York  to  do  her 

duty  too, 
In  thunder  tones  the  boys  will  speak  —  the  noble 

boys  in  blue. 

ALBANY,  Sept.  24, 1866. 


116  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


TO    NOKTHEKN    PEACEMAKERS. 

Back!  deriders  of  the  Nation, 
Laughers  at  the  desolation 
Treason  brought  upon  the  people,  once  united, 

happy,  free ; 

Eetribution  for  the  sorrow, 
In  hereafter's  glad  to-morrow, 
Must  be  shared  alike  by  traitors  and  abettors  such 
as  ye. 

Back !  and  hear  ye  not  the  thunder 
Talking  "  Peace"  from  over  yonder, 
Just  adown  the  fertile  valley  Early  *  dared  to 

desolate ; 

"  Peace"  from  every  sabre  gleaming ; 
"Peace"  from  every  banner  streaming; 
Guaranteeing  Peace  forever  to  the  people  and  the 
State. 

"  Back!"  comes  surging  o'er  the  mountain  — 
Sherman  sends  it  from  the  fountain 


Confederate  Gen.  Early. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  117 

Whereat  Treason  oft  replenish' d  gaping  mouths 

with  shot  and  shell, 
Nothing  less  than  full  submission, 
And  our  Union's  recognition, 
Are  the  terms  of  peace  he  offers  where   our 
brothers  fought  and  fell. 


Back !  Oppression's  petted  creature ; 
Hideous  in  every  feature ; 

Born  to  truckle  to  the  tyrant,  and  to  bow  obse- 
quiously, 

Echoes  from  the  thousands  sleeping, 
Glistens  in  the  tears  we're  weeping, 
Speaks  from  many  vacant  places  in  this  home  of 
Liberty. 


Back  !  the  Olive  branch  ye  tender 
Clothed  with  peacefulness  and  splendor 
Bears  the  buds  foretelling  fruit  of  bitter  Discord's 

fated  tree ! 

We  will  offer  them  the  flower 
In  its  majesty  and  power 

When  they  gather  with  their  sisters  around  the 
tree  of  Liberty ! 


118  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Victory  is  just  before  us  ; 
Hear  ye  not  the  noble  chorus 
"Wafted  from  Old  Salamander's  iron  troop  of  shot 

and  shell, 

And  where  Jeff  himself  is  planted, 
Every  wish  will  soon  be  Grant-ed, 
"When  beneath  the  starry  banner  Treason  hears 
its  funeral  knell. 


Indiana,  Maine,  Ohio 
Firm  for  truth  —  a  noble  trio  — 
Standing  by  the  Union  banner,   swear  eternal 

fealty; 

Pennsylvania,  in  thunder, 
Warns  the  foe  to  stand  from  under. 
Back !  ye  traitors  who  would  trample  on  the  en- 
sign of  the  free ! 


WELCOME    PEACE. 

Come,  welcome  Peace  —  exert  thy  reign  — 
So  let  thy  glorious  power  shine, 

That  trodden  fields  shall  bloom  again, 
And  blushing  fruit  depend  the  vine. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  119 

Come,  nurture  in  the  Nation's  heart 

A  brother's  love,  and  let  it  be 
The  chord  whose  music  forms  a  part 

Of  Freedom's  blessed  symphony. 

Come,  let  our  noble  banner  wave  — 

Its  colors  adoration  meet  — 
And  only  him  be  held  a  slave 

Who  tramples  it  beneath  his  feet. 

Come,  welcome  Peace,  so  nerve  the  hand  — 

So  tune  the  heart  and  fill  the  breast 
Of  him  who  soon  shall  rule  the  land, 
That  all  may  rise  and  call  him  blest. 


THE    RETURN    OF    PEACE. 

The  cloud  has  passed  —  the  gladd'ning  rays 
Already  edge  with  welcome  light 

The  morning  of  the  peaceful  days  ; 
Yes,  'tis  no  longer  night. 


120  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

The  measured  tread  of  friend  and  foe 
Is  hushed  in  desolation's  track, 

The  tide  of  blood  has  ceased  to  flow 
And  States  are  coming  back. 

ALBANY  Jan.  1, 1866. 


KANSAS     AND     FREEDOM. 

Freeman  of  the  North,  awake — Kansas  loudly  calls  for  thee 
To  protect  her  virgin  soil  from  the  curse  of  Slavery  ; 
Vindicate  your  love  of  freedom,  love  of  justice  and  of  right, 
By  declaring  Kansas  never  shall  be  blackened  with  the 
blight. 


Trusty  men  with  trusty  rifles  hasten  to  the  field  of  strife, 
Love  of  freedom  be  your  armor  —  have  no  fears  of  losing 

life, 
Face  the  king  of  chains  and  bondage  —  drive  the  lion  to 

his  lair, 
Vow  that  liberty  and  justice  shall  be  reared  and  nurtured 

there. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  121 

Though  we  sought  for  intercession  at  the  seat  of  ruling 

power, 
"When  the  hostile  clouds  were  thick'ning  and  o'er  Kansas 

seemed  to  lower, 
Deaf  to  every  supplication  —  blind  to  wrong's  aggressive 

sway  — 
Mute  to  every  cry  of  freedom  —  Franklin l  turned  our  plea 

away. 

Men  baptized  at  Freedom's  altar  —  sturdy  yeoman  bold 
and  free  — 

Yowed  to  consecrate  the  irbeing  at  the  shrine  of  Liberty ; 

"Wrong,  though  clad  in  gilded  armor,  sanctioned  by  the  rul- 
ing rod, 

Right  will  bow  the  mighty  giant,  tho'  it  wade  through  seas 
of  blood. 

Hasten,  friends  of  truth  and  justice  — Kansas  needs  a  help- 
ing hand, 

Fearless  hearts  to  face  the  tyrant  —  willing  men  to  till  the 
land. 

Guard  with  love  the  family  altars  dedicated  to  the  free, 

Let  the  plains  of  Kansas  echo  loudly  shouts  of  "  Victory." 


Aii  Allusion  to  President  Pierce. 
1C 


122  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


TO    THE    XLth    CONGRESS. 

X  L,  in  framing  laws  to  guide 

Our  nation  through  the  troubled  sea, 

X  L,  in  Peace  —  the  nation's  pride  — 
X  L,  in  love  and  unity. 


X  L,  in  branding  Treason,  crime  — 
Though  sugar  coat  it  as  they  may, 

With  hope  to  spare  in  future  time 
His  X,  L,  N,  C,  &  D,  J. 


IV.  POLITICAL 


MATCH     HIM.i 

Grant  the  hero's  on  the  course  ; 

Match  him,  match  him. 
Democrats  from  any  source, 

Match  him  if  you  can. 
You  are  sure  to  meet  the  wall, 
In  the  vote  the  coming  Fall  — 
Grant  is  bound  to  beat  you  all, 

Match  him  if  you  can. 

CHORUS. 

Then  rally,  boys,  for  the  good  old  Union, 

Union !  Union  ! ! 
Then  rally,  boys,  for  the  good  old  Union, 

Hip,  hip,  hurrah  ! 


1  A  Campaign  Song,  set  to  music  by  Andrew  Boyd,  pub- 
lished by  Ditson  &  Co.,  Boston,  and  extensively  sung  by  vari- 
ous Glee  Clubs. 


124  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

"  See,  the  conquering  hero  comes," 

Match  him,  match  him ; 
Sound  your  trumpets,  beat  your  drums, 

Match  him  if  you  can. 
Unpretending,  full  revealed, 
Firm  as  on  the  battle  field  — 
"  Forward,  boys,  we'll  never  yield," 

Match  him  if  you  can. 

CHORUS. —  Then  rally,  boys,  etc. 

"  Peace"  surrounds  our  candidate, 

Match  him,  match  him, 
"  Hope"  is  knocking  at  the  gate, 

Match  him  if  you  can. 
Choose  from  Democratic  "  stars," 
Heroes  of  the  triple  bars  — 
We  present  the  "  Son  of  Mars," 

Match  him  if  you  can. 

CHORUS. —  Then  rally,  boys,  etc. 

"  Boys  in  Blue"  the  challenge  fling, 

Match  him,  match  him  ; 
Echo  makes  the  welkin  ring, 

"  Match  him  if  you  can." 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS,  125 

Crippled  by  the  rebel's  hate, 
Taunted  in  a  Northern  State, 
They  present  a  candidate, 
Match  him  if  you  can. 

CHORUS. —  Then  rally,  boys,  etc. 


Grant's  the  man  to  "  fight  it  out," 

Match  him,  match  him  ; 
He  will  put  the  foe  to  rout, 

Match  him  if  you  can. 
Grant  is  on  a  mission  bent, 
To  the  White  House  from  the  tent  — 
Grant  shall  be  our  President, 

Then  match  him  if  you  can. 

CHORUS. —  Then  rally,  boys,  etc. 

ALBANY,  July,  1868. 


126  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


MARCHING    ALONG. 

Respectfully  dedicated  to  the  "  Unconditionals"  of  Albany. 

The  loyal  are  gath'ring  from  near  and  from  far, 
In  Peace  they're  a  host,  as  they  were  in  the  War ; 
With  GRANT  their  commander,  the  Union  their  song, 
There's  naught  can  prevent  them  from  marching  along. 

CHORUS. 

Marching  along,  we  are  marching  along, 
With  GRANT  for  our  leader  we  are  marching  along ; 
Our  watchword  is  ringing,  'tis   "Down  with  the 

wrong, 
And  up  with  the  banner,"  we  are  marching  along. 

The  foe  that's  before  us  we  know  is  the  same 
We  met  on  the  mountains,  in  valley  and  plain ; 
Our  banner  in  triumph  prevailed  o'er  the  wrong, 
And  now  with  the  ballot  we're  marching  along. 

The  Union  defenders  are  speaking  again  — 
In  echoes  of  thunder  we  hear  them  in  Maine  ; 
Vermont  boys  have  proven  to  whom  they  belong, 
With  GRANT  on  their  banners  they're  marching  along. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  127 

Then  hail  to  the  chieftain,  hurra  for  the  man 
"Whose  work  disconcerts  all  that  Rebels  may  plan ; 
A  name  that  is  worthy  of  labor  and  song  — 
For  GRANT  and  the  Union  we're  marching  along. 

ALBANY,  Sept.,  1868. 


WHEN    GRANT    GOES    MARCHING    IN. 

AIR—  "  When  Johnny  ccmes  marching  home.'" 

Vermont  has  spoken  out  again, 

Hurra,  Hurra ! 
We've  heard  the  glorious  news  from  Maine, 

Hurra,  Hurra ! 

In  thunder  tones  the  people  spake, 
And  made  the  walls  of  Treason  shake, 

They'll  all  come  down 

When  Grant  goes  marching  in. 

With  Grant  to  lead  the  loyal  band, 

Hurra,  Hurra ! 
We'll  drive  Rebellion  from  the  land, 

Hurra,  Hurra ! 


128  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Horatio  and  the  Forrest  crew 
Will  surely  find  enough  to  do, 
They'll  all  come  down 
When  Grant  goes  marching  in. 

The  starry  flag  shall  monarch  be, 

Hurra,  Hurra ! 
O'er  all  the  States  from  sea  to  sea, 

Hurra,  Hurra ! 

The  Seymourites  may  raise  their  flag, 
With  bars  of  Treason  on  the  rag, 

They'll  all  come  down 
When  Grant  goes  marching  in. 

The  good  old  Ship  will  safely  ride, 

Hurra,  Hurra ! 
With  Grant  to  pilot  —  Grant  to  guide, 

Hurra,  Hurra ! 

No  traitor  light  is  heeded  now, 
No  hidden  rock  to  strike  the  prow, 

They're  all  wiped  out 

Since  Grant  went  marching  in. 

Now  boys  we'll  work  though  shine  or  rain, 

Hurra,  Hurra ! 
Until  November  comes  again, 

Hurra,  Hurra ! 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  129 

"We'll  show  the  rebels  that  the  man 
Who  leads  Secession's  wicked  clan, 
Must  stand  one  side, 
For  Grant  is  marching  in. 


GLORY  HALLELUJAH. 

We're  on  the  road  to  victory  and  laurels  will  increase, 
For  Uncle  Sam  has  given  us  the  Yankee  Doodle  lease, 
With  GRANT  —  the  "  Unconditional"  —  to  lead  the  way 

to  peace, 

We're  sure  in  marching  on. 

Glory,  glory,  hallelujah;  Glory,  glory,  hallelujah, 
Glory,  glory,  hallelujah,  we're  sure  in  marching  on. 

Jeff  Davis  didn't  hang  upon  the  "  sour  apple  tree," 
But  loyalty  has  branded  him  with  lasting  infamy ! 
In  plucking  out  the  traitor  weeds  that  cumber  liberty, 
We  still  are  marching  on. 

GRANT  put  the  rebel  fire  out,  though  fed  with  North- 
ern hate ; 

He  whipped  the  Rebs  in  '62,  and  will  in  '68. 
To  make  him  our  President  and  take  the  chair  of  State, 

We  now  are  marching  on. 
17 


130  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Then  join  the  loyal  army  in  its  mission  for  the  right; 
Prosperity  and  Plenty  are  the  trophies  of  the  fight ; 
The  sun  of  Peace  will  gladden  soon  the  nation  with  its 

light, 
As  we  go  marching  on. 

ALBANY,  1868. 


GRANT    AND    THE    UNION. 

Respectfully  dedicated  to  tlie  "  Unconditionals,"  of  Albany. 
Am—  "  Down  in  a  Coal  Mine." 

I  am  a  loyal  Union  man, 

And  surely  love  to  see 
Each  honest  heart  do  what  he  can, 

Wherever  he  may  be, 
To  fling  our  banner  to  the  breeze 

And  give  it  constant  care, 
Until  our  Nation  and  its  flag 

Is  honored  ev'ry-where. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  131 

CHORUS. 

Grant  and  the  Union !  let  the  echo  sound ! 
Union  forever,  boys,  pass  the  toast  around ; 
Treason  must  surrender,  for  we  never  shall, 
And  our  terms  are  "  Unconditional." 

We  have  a  Captain  at  the  head 

We  know  will  never  yield 
To  Treason  at  the  Capital, 

Or  rebels  in  the  field. 
We  know  for  him  secession  bent 

On  mountain,  hill  and  plain  ; 
We've  tried  him  once  for  President, 

We'll  try  him  once  again. 

The  tremble  of  the  Greeley-ites, 

Is  just  before  the  fall, 
Each  rally-effort  only  lights 

The  "  writing  on  the  wall ;  " 
And  when  November  comes  again, 

As  ev'ry  thing  denotes, 
They'll  find  their  weigh  and  cause  to  be 

A  little  short  of  votes. 

ALBANY,  Sept.  3,  1872. 


132  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


MARCHING     ALONG. 

The  harvest  is  ready,  and  rich  is  the  yield 
We'll  gather  for  truth  from  the  National  field ; 
We'll  tramp  down  the  stubble,  the  tares  and  the  wrong, 
And  garner  the  loyal  while  we're  marching  along. 

CHORUS. 

Marching  along,  we  are  marching  along; 
With    GRANT   for    our    leader,  we  are    marching 

along  — 
Our  watchword  is  ringing  —  it  is  "Down  with  the 

wrong, 
And  up  with  the  banner,"  we  are  marching  along. 

For  GRANT  and  for  WILSON,  for  Dix  and  TREMAIN, 
We'll  shout  from  the  mountains,  the  valley  and  plain; 
And  to  all  there  is  welcome  to  join  in  the  song  — 
So  gird  on  your  armor  and  be  marching  along. 

Then  hail  to  the  chieftain,  hurrah  for  the  man 
Whom  no  one  has  beaten,  and  nobody  can; 
Whose  sword  is  a  terror  to  Treason  and  Wrong — 
For  GRANT  and  the  Union  we  are  marching  along. 

Sept.,  1872. 


V.  CARRIERS'  ADDRESESS. 

WE    GREET    YOU. 

[Jan.  1, 1868.] 

"We've  turned  another  yearly  leaf  within  the 

Book  of  Time  — 
The  record  of  our  joys  and  woes —  of  happiness 

and  crime. 
To  some  with  peace  the  year  has  died  —  to  some 

perhaps  with  tears, 
But  '67  rests  within  the  Sepulchre  of  Years. 

"  A  Happy  New  Year"  —  merry  chimes  —  from 
old  and  young  its  ring 

Glides  in  to  make  melodious  the  merry  songs  they 
sing. 

"  A  Happy  New  Year  unto  all  —  in  rags  or  match- 
less fur !  " 

This  greeting  take  in  welcome  from  the  Letter 
Carrier. 


134  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

The  Carrier  breasts  the  beating  storm,  the  cold, 

the  burning  ray ; 
With  duty  seeks  to  blend  the  joy  of  pleasing  day 

by  day, 
The  welcome  bridge  of  Uncle  Sam,  o'er  which 

your  letters  glide 
From  Post  o'er  countless  steps   to  reach  your 

happy  fireside. 


"  A  Happy  New  Year !  "  Gently,  Time,  deal  with 

the  good  and  fair ; 
Keep  back  the  furrows  from  the  face  and  silver 

from  the  hair ! 
Let  joy  and  peace  our  Country  fill,  through  City, 

Town  and  State : 
Adieu  to  '67  and  Hurrah  for  '68  ! 


SECOND  PART. 

Kind  friends  !  while  Time  is  forward  fleeting, 
The  LETTER  CARRIER  sends  you  greeting, 
And  wishes,  as  his  song  he  sings  you, 
A  blessing  on  the  news  he  brings  you. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  135 

Your  CARRIER  well  might  boast  of  knowledge, 
(He  goes  so  oft  through  School  and  College ;) 
But  learning's  rules  he  counts  as  fetters, 
And  only  seeks  to  "  know  his  LETTERS  ! " 

Tho'  "  notes"  and  "  numbers"  he  must  balance, 
Your  CARRIER  claims  no  poet's  talents, 
And  therefore  hopes  he  may  not  bore  you, 
When  with  his  "  lines"  he  halts  before  you. 


The  man  who  "  drops  a  word  in  season," 
Is  said  to  show  both  wit  and  reason  ; 
If  so,  the  CARRIER  does  much  better, 
Who  "  drops  in  season"  every  "  LETTER." 

Remember  friends,  with  due  reflection, 
The  CARRIER  goes  by  your  "  DIRECTION  ;  " 
Your  "  NAME"  for  him  has  such  attraction, 
He  lives  by  "  corresponding"  action. 

He  follows  you  —  he  seeks  you  often, 
Your  hopes  to  raise,  your  cares  to  soften ; 
By  winter  chilled,  by  summer  roasted, 
He  reads  and  runs  to  keep  you  "  POSTED." 


186  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

So,  while  the  New  Year  Season  blesses, 
The  CARRIER  drops  his  brief  "  addresses 
And  though  he  writes  no  learned  thesis, 
He  hopes  that  his  "  DELIVERY"  pleases. 


May  all  your  friends,  with  tender  feeling, 
Be  like  good  ENVELOPES,  "  SELF  SEALING;  " 
And  all  your  business,  closely  heeded, 
Provide  you  "  STAMPS"  whenever  needed. 


"  THESE  LINES,"  with  New  Year's  salutations, 
Come  from  your  friends  of  various  "  STATIONS," 
And  that  our  toils  may  all  be  RE-paid, 
"  Please  answer  by  return  post"  PRE-paid. 

THE  LETTER  CARRIERS. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  137 


CABEIBES'  ANNUAL  GREETING. 

Albany  Evening  Journal. 
[Jan.  1,  1869.] 

"  Happy  New  Year,  Happy  New  Year  "  — 

Send  the  echo  down  the  line ; 
Bells  are  ringing,  voices  singing 
Praises  to  the  year  beginning  ; 
Join  we  in  the  cheering  chorus, 
Welcoming  the  year  before  us  ; 
"  Happy  New  Year,  Happy  New  Year, 

Welcome  Eighteen  Sixty-Nine." 

Though  wind  may  howl,  and  sleet  or  driving  rain, 
Or  hail  beat  tattoos  on  the  window  pane  ; 
Though  frost  may  wed  itself  to  snowy  flake, 
And  audibly,  with  ev'ry  step  we  take 
Speak  words  whose  coldness  leaves  the  biting  sting 
And  telegraphs  to  teeth  a  chattering : 
Still,  though  we  know  the  wintry  wind  blows 
chill, 

Yet  storm  or  cold  brings  not  the  Carrier  ill, 
18 


138  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

If  your  warm  hearts  but  feel  a  quicker  flow 
Of  ruddy  life  and  news-awakened  glow 
At  our  approach.     Our  mission  is  to  please 
The  laborer,  and  gentleman  of  ease  — 
The  one  whose  muscle,  brain  and  sweating  brow 
Turns  sod  for  Progress  with  an  earnest  plow, 
And  him  whose  purse  —  the  garner  of  the  seed  — 
Unloosens  as  the  fields  of  Progress  need. 

In   one   short  year  what  changes  have  been 

wrought, 
Some   days    with   pleasure,   some  with  sorrow 

fraught ; 
Some  hearts  with  joy  have  leaped  at  Fortune's 

smile, 

Some,  sorrow-stricken,  pined  away  the  while. 
"  Sweet  Sixteen"  laughs  and  prates  in  highest 

glee  — 

Time  gives  her  charms  he  takes  from  "  Twenty- 
three;" 

While  fading  beauty  lingers  at  the  glass, 
And  sighs  and  moans  "  I  am  no  more  a-lass." 
The  youthful  master  doffs  the  cap  and  kirtle, 
And  deems  himself  a  rose  and  not  a  myrtle ; 
Strokes  up  the  down  that  struggles  on  his  chin 
And  swears  the  barber  must  his  task  begin. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  139 

"With  "  frenzy  uncontrollable"  he  seeks 
To  bury  deep  with  hair  the  ruddy  cheeks  ; 
And  should,  perchance,  but  Nature  dare  deny 
The  color  black,  he  straightway  seeks  to  dye. 
Balls,  parties,  concerts,  perfumes  and  cigars 
Crowd  his  weak  noddle  with  a  thousand  cares ; 
With  faultless  tie  and  kids  immaculate  — 
The  Grecian  Bend  an  aptly  chosen  mate  — 
Make  room,  ye  masses!  see  ye  not  the  Page 
That  Folly  sends  with  Fashion's  equipage  ? 
The  prime  old  bach,  bankrupt  in  hope  and  heart, 
Sees  happiness,  but  with  it  has  no  part ; 
While  wedded  love,  perhaps,  has  found  too  soon 
The  transient  mock'ry  of  the  honeymoon. 
Sly,  artful  Cupid's  had  abundant  sport 
Preparing  cases  for  the  special  court; 
Has  found  as  many  soft  and  yielding  hearts 
As  ever  felt  the  power  of  his  darts. 

But,  pardon  me,  kind  reader,  for  not  here 
Can  I  review  those  changes  of  the  year 
Which  came  and  went,  as  slyly  as  the  dew, 
And  found  no  record  in  my  day's  review. 
My  task  it  was  Life's  varied  scenes  to  scan 
And  learn  new  lessons  from  the  deeds  of  man  ; 
Or  with  the  Poets  to  beguile  the  hour, 
And  cull  the  ones  most  fragrant  in  the  bower. 


140  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

I've  daily  told  you  by  the  printed  page 

How  swept  the  floods  and  where  the  fires  rage ; 

Where  roaring  hail  storms  threshed  the  harvest 

field, 
And  when  King  Frost  the  Autumn  fountain 

sealed. 

How  rosy  Spring  danced  o'er  the  meadows  green, 
And  crystal  brooks  ran  flow'ry  banks  between  : 
"With  poet-wreath  I  bound  her  pleasant  brow 
And  hung  rhymed  garlands  on  a  rustic  plow ; 
Till  when  on  high  the  dog-star,  hot  and  red, 
His  scorching  influence  over  Summer  shed. 
In  their  unceasing  circle  tripped  the  seasons 
Bringing  strange  incidents,  suggesting  reasons, 
Which  all  within  my  open  columns  found 
A  lodgment  for  my  waiting  readers  'round. 
I've  told  you  how,  upon  a  distant  shore, 
A  city  was,  a  city  is  no  more ; 
How  quaking  earth  and  monster  tidal  wave 
Brought  multitudes  to  an  unthinking  grave. 
I've  told  of  murders,  riots  and  of  wars, 
Discordant  States,  and  wild  Ambition's  jars ; 
And  then  again  of  matters  nearer  home 
I've  talked  the  year  around,  and  what  was  done. 
Not  only  have  the  rough  and  broken  acts 
Of  stubborn  life  been  mine,  and  stubborn  facts, 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  141 

But  here  and  there  a  wreath  by  fancy  twined, 
Like  gloomy  clouds,  with  gold  and  silver  lined, 
Drawn  out  in  'witching  story,  'guiling  thought, 
With    Cupid's   pranks    and  freaks  well   inter- 
wrought  ; 

Of  terror-mantled  tale  of  breathless  dread, 
O'er  fascinating  pages  strangely  spread ; 
All  acts  of  all  mankind,  all  fortunes,  fates, 
All  accidents  and  incidents  and  dates. 


Now  that  we've  passed  the  mystic  line 

And  closed  the  yearly  gate, 
We'll  not  forget  in  Sixty-Nine 

To  think  of  Sixty-Eight. 
A  thousand  little  thoughts  of  some 

Can  find  an  active  play 
By  turning  leaves  and  dating  from 

A  year  ago  to-day. 


The  records  of  a  single  year 
Are  strangely  interwrought 

With  life  and  death,  with  hope  and  fear, 
With  gay  and  gloomy  thought. 


142  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

But  few  can  turn  the  pages  o'er 
With  truthfulness  and  say 

"  I've  many  friends,  and  had  no  more 
A  year  ago  to-day." 


Not  many  eyes  that  now  behold 

The  dawning  of  the  year 
Have  not  been  witnesses  that  told 

The  story  of  a  tear ; 
Not  many  hearts  but  what  can  claim 

Companionship  with  clay 
That  held  a  soul  within  its  frame 

A  year  ago  to-day. 


How  many  who  essayed  to  climb 

Ambition's  giddy  mount, 
Have  fallen  in  this  little  time, 

None  will  attempt  to  count, 
Yet  Power,  Gold  and  Lucifer, 

Can  shout  aloud  and  say, 
"As  many  follow  as  there  were 

A  year  ago  to-day." 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  143 

AMERICA  !  the  Mecca  of  the  world  — 
Toward  whose  shores  so  many  ships  unfurled 
Their  sails  in  years  before,  and  millions  bless'd 
With  peace  in  homes  of  Liberty  and  rest  — 
Still  opens  wide  its  arms,  and  all  who  will 
May  come  within  and  find  a  welcome  still. 
Broad  acres  yet  are  waiting  for  the  plow, 
And  forests  want  the  axe  to  make  them  bow. 
The  West  still  calls,  from  mountain,  plain  and 

glen, 
For  millions  more  of  Nature's  Noblemen. 


Though  for  a  time  the  cloud  of  war  and  hate 
In  darkness  left  our  noble  ship  of  state, 
The  sun  of  Peace  the  brighter  seems  to  smile 
For  being  veiled  with  gloominess  awhile. 
It  set,  and  with  it  heroes  found  a  grave ; 
It  rose,  and  with  it  rose  no  shackled  slave. 

Unknown  to  fame,  but  with  a  dauntless  zeal, 
Behold  a  hero  leads  the  Great  Appeal  — 
Makes  Treason  blush  with  shame  and  quickly  find 
The  potent  power  of  a  Master  Mind. 
Our  noble  GRANT  —  unschooled  to  know  defeat  — 
Stands  by  the  flag  and  makes  the  work  complete  ; 


144  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Speaks  words  in  deeds  and  acts  of  common  sense 
That  charms  the  world  with  mighty  eloquence. 
To  him,  whose  name  will  reach  beyond  to-day, 
And  proudly  live  when  years  have  rolled  away, 
We  point  with  pride ;  and,  fresh  from  out  the  tent, 
The  People's  voice  has  made  him  President. 
With  Peace  to  light  the  future,  who  shall  say 
"  A  greater  is"  than  our  America. 

A  thought  for  the  dead  and  a  sigh  with  the  weep- 
ing, 

'Tis  fitting  we  give  at  the  birth  of  the  years, 
To  the  heroes  that  fell  and  as  heroes  are  sleeping 

In  graves  never  wet  with  affectionate  tears. 

"  I  miss,"  says  the  mother,  "  my  boy  at  the  table, 
I  miss  him  as  year  after  year  passes  by ; 

But  0,  I  shall  see  him,  and  while  I  am  able, 
I'll  cling  to  the  rock  that  is  higher  than  I." 

"  E'en  though  not  a  stone  nor  a  flower  or  willow 
Can  point  me  the  place  where  the  mortal  may 

lie, 

I  am  sure  that  good  angels  are  watching  his  pil- 
low— 
I'll  cling  to  the  rock  that  is  higher  than  I." 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  145 

"  Deep,  deep  in  ray  heart,  with  the  purest  devo- 
tion, 

Embalmed  for  my  life  as  a  hero  you  lie  — 
With  a  faith  that  can  conquer  the  wildest  com- 
motion, 
I'll  cling  to  the  rock  that  is  higher  than  I." 

0,  ye  who  are  blessed  from  the  rich  flowing 

fountain 

Of  Plenty  and  Happiness,  add  to  your  cheer, 
By  helping  to  move  the  disconsolate  mountain 
That  keeps  from  the  stricken  a  Happy  New 
Year. 

Lo !   sluggish  Spain,  long  gyved,  essayed  to  be 
Unshackled  from  the  toils  of  Tyranny ; 
With  little  strife  won  to  herself  the  day, 
Despoiled  the  Throne  and  sent  the  queen  away ; 
While  Freedom  dawned,  and  with  effulgent  light 
Broke  in  upon  the  centuries  of  night. 
Untutored  in  the  school  of  Liberty, 
Perchance  this  quick  and  signal  victory 
May  yet  delay  the  boon  of  life  to  Spain, 
And  send  her  back  to  monarchy  again. 
May  He  who  holds  the  Nations  in  His  hand 
Proclaim  that  Liberty  shall  rule  the  land. 

19 


146  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Spasmodic  France  successive  haps  betide 
To  check  Ambition's  mad  and  reckless  stride, 
And  will  so  long  as  minion  holds  the  voice 
And  makes  a  slave  of  ev'ry  good  bourgeois. 
Napoleon  reads  in  ev'ry  word  and  tread 
Monitions  of  a  shower  overhead. 
A  muzzled  Press  its  potent  power  wields 
E'en  in  its  silence,  and  the  monarch  feels 
Unstable  on  his  throne.     The  leaven  set 
By  hero  BAUDIN  works  and  rises  yet. 

Sink  as  you  will  the  germ  of  Human  Right  — 
Deny  the  sun  of  Liberty  its  light  — 
Forbid  the  rain  of  love  to  feel  its  way 
Down  through  the  clods  of  years'  despotic  clay ; 
Yet  there's  a  Power  thrones  cannot  suppress, 
NOT  tomes  of  edicts  make  a  whit  the  less  ; 
A  Power  meet  to  break  the  bonds  of  night, 
And  give  the  germ  its  liberty  and  light. 

From  north  to  south,  from  west  unto  the  east, 
The  People's  Voices  start  monarchs  from  the  feast, 
And  on  the  wall  of  Destiny  appears 
In  words  indellible,  "  The  Tyrant's  years 
Are  numbered,"  and  the  dawning  ray 
Proclaims  the  coming  of  the  Better  Day. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  147 

The  Yankee  Nation  —  what  a  race ! 

On  earth  there's  no  abiding  place, 

No  mountain,  valley,  plain  or  wood 

But  where  a  Yankee  foot  has  stood. 

The  Pyramids  have  e'en  essayed 

To  trust  a  Yankee  in  its  shade ; 

He's  felt  the  wild  and  cooling  breeze 

That  plays  about  the  Pyrenees ; 

E'en  where  the  Alps  in  grandeur  rise 

With  snowy  caps  to  pierce  the  skies, 

His  restless  tread  has  left  the  trace 

Of  foot-prints  from  the  Yankee  race. 

Now  in  the  fields  of  ice  and  snow  — 

The  home  of  seals  and  Esquimaux  — 

He  seeks  to  know  how  large  a  hole 

Surrounds  the  mystic  Northern  Pole, 

And  strives  to  prove  it  if  there  be 

In  truth  an  open  Polar  sea. 

You'll  find  him  in  the  Eastern  khan, 

That  shelters  either  beast  or  man  ; 

Or  down  among  the  silks  and  teas 

Of  Chinamen  and  Japanese. 

Now,  with  this  penchant  "  more  to  know," 

If  this  or  that  be  thus  and  so, 

Forsooth  who  knows  but  he  may  soon 

Be  climbing  mountains  in  the  moon. 


148  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

And  now,  my  kind  patrons,  my  rhyming  must 

cease : 

May  each  day's  succession  but  only  increase 
Your  measure  of  happiness,  plenty  and  cheer  — 
I  bid  each  and  all  of  you  "  Happy  New  Year." 


SECOND     ANNUAL     ADDRESS. 

[January  1,  1870.] 

With  the  years  of  the  Past  we  have  added  another, 
Sixty-nine  is  at  rest,  and  it  surely  is  clear 

That  to  each  man  and  woman,  friend,  sister  or 

brother, 
Old  Time,  as  a  Carrier,  leaves  a  New  Year. 

With  edging  of  bright  days  the  cloudlets  of  sorrow 
Lose  half  of  the  terror  a  fullness  would  show ; 

So  the  Carrier  wishes  to-day  and  to-morrow 
Your  clouds  may  be  few,  with  the  edges  aglow. 

The  wonders  of  wire-talk  still  are  increasing ; 

Like  tendrils  the  Telegraph  seeks  to  embrace 
The  whole  of  the  earth,  with  a  vigor  unceasing, 

Till  the  Orient  speaks  with  the  Occident  race. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  149 

But  your  "  self-sealing"  missives  of  love  and  affec- 
tion, 

"When  brought  you  by  mail,  win  your  confi- 
dence more, 

And  you're  certain  to  cherish,  with  fond  recollec- 
tion, 
The  time  that  the  Carrier's  due  at  your  door. 

"  Here's  a  letter  for  you,  sir,  mailed  from  a  station 
Not  afar  from  your  own,  sir  —  it's  brimming 

with  cheer ; 
It  is  not  a  tirade  from  a  friend  or  relation, 

But  it's  right  to  the  point,  sir  —  'a  Happy  New 
Year.'" 

"  Here's   another    for  madame,   '  my  lady,'   or 
misses  — 

JSTotpmiflfe,  but  open,  explicit  and  clear; 
You  may  not  find  in  it  my  dear-inga  or  kisses, 

But  the  Carrier's  wishes,  *  a  Happy  New  Year.'" 

With  a  duty  to  do,  and  a  will  to  assist  him, 
The  Carrier  tramps  to  that  music  alone ; 

No  storm  can  prevent  and  no  pleasure  enlist  him, 
To  swerve  from  the  path  'till  that  duty  is  done. 


150  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Here's  health  to  the   new-born,  success  to  its 

reigning ; 

Full  be  its  record  of  plenty  and  cheer ; 
And  here's  that  the  "  Finis"  may  find  you  remain- 
ing, 

And  here's  to  each  one  of  you  "  HAPPY 
YEAR." 


APPENDIX. 


CAPT.  NELSON  O.  WENDELL, 
jht  Jftemortam. 

[The  following  papers  are  placed  in  the  present  volume  as 
a  merited  tribute  to  a  memory  that  will  long  be  affectionately 
cherished  by  a  wide  circle  of  relatives  and  friends.  The  first 
is  an  Obituary  sketch  which  appeared,  in  May,  1863,  in  the 
editorial  columns  of  the  Mohawk  Valley  Register,  of  Fort  Plain, 
N.  Y.  The  second  is  an  editorial  from  the  same  paper  of 
September  18,  1862.  The  third  — Miss  IMILDA  WENDELL'S 
letter  to  her  brother,  on  hearing  of  his  enlistment  —  was  pub- 
lished near  the  period  of  its  date  in  the  Morning  Herald  of 
Utica,  N.  Y.] 

I. 

Among  the  many  brave  men  sacrificed  upon 
the  altar  of  their  country,  in  the  great  fight  of 
Chancellorsville,  we  notice  the  name  of  NELSON 
0.  WENDELL,  Captain  of  Co.  F,  121st  Reg.  K  Y. 
S.  Volunteers — who  fell  on  Salem  Heights,  near 
Fredericksburg,  on  the  3d  of  May,  1863. 

Mr.  Wendell  was  born  in  Warren,  Herkimer 
Co.,  K  Y.,  April  6, 1832,  and  at  his  death  was  but 
little  over  31  years  of  age.  He  was  a  young  man 


152  APPENDIX. 

of  fine  address,  commanding  person,  patriotic  im- 
pulses and  good  literary  acquirements.  After 
fitting  himself  in  the  rudimental  branches,  in  the 
schools  of  his  native  state,  he  went  west  and  grad- 
uated at  Hanover  College,  Indiana.  Being  de- 
pendent upon  his  own  efforts,  he  afterwards 
engaged  in  teaching,  and  met  with  considerable 
success  in  that  profession,  in  Kentucky  and 
Missouri.  Impaired  health  obliged  him  to  relin- 
quish so  confining  a  business  for  a  time,  when  he 
returned  to  this  state,  and  was  soon  thereafter 
appointed  School  Commissioner  in  Otsego  county 
and  located  at  Cooperstown.  A  restoration  of  his 
health  found  him  again  at  his  chosen  avocation,  a 
professor  in  the  West  Winfield  Academy  —  where 
he  was  employed  when  the  Elsworth  (44th  N".  Y.) 
Regiment  was  being  formed.  The  citizens  of 
"West  Winfield  happily  united  upon  Mr.  Wendell, 
to  represent  said  town  in  that  Regiment  —  and  he 
yielded  with  alacrity  his  position  in  the  school,  to 
respond  to  the  call  of  a  bleeding  country.  How 
well  that  confidence  was  reposed,  and  how  faith- 
fully and  heroically  his  services  were  rendered, 
are  attested  by  his  bravery  in  some  eight  or  ten 
battles,  and  the  final  sacrifice  of  his  valuable  life. 
In  illustration  of  the  earnest  determination  with 
which  he  entered  battle,  we  give  an  extract  from 
a  letter  to  his  brother,  written  immediately  after 
receiving  marching  orders,  and  while  preparing 
to  cross  the  Rappahannock  with  Sedgwick's 
Corps,  on  the  28th  of  April,  1863.  He  says : 


APPENDIX.  153 

"  We  have  marching  orders  for  3  P.  M.,  this  day.  Des- 
tination, Fredericksburg  and  the  heights  beyond.  A 
fearful  crash  of  arras  and  bloody  contest  will  ensue ;  but 
we  are  in  fine  spirits  and  confident  of  success.  If  I  sur- 
vive, you  shall  soon  hear  from  me  again.  If  I  am  slain, 
be  assured  I  die  in  a  good  cause." 

Also,  in  concluding  a  letter  to  ~W.  C.  Wendell, 
a  nephew  in  Albany,  he  adds  : 

"  But  should  I  fall,  remember  that  I  die  in  the  full 
faith  of  the  justice  and  ultimate  success  of  our  cause." 

At  an  earlier  date  —  some  time  in  February 
last  —  in  answer  to  a  letter  from  his  brother, 
Jacob  Wendell,  Esq.,  begging  him  to  procure  a 
furlough  and  visit  his  home  —  he  sent  the  follow- 
ing characteristic  response : 

ARMY  OP  THE  POTOMAC, 
CAMP  OF  THE  121  ST  N. 
NEAR  WHITE  OAK  CHURCH, 
February  26,  1863. 

*****  You  ask  me  to  make  you  a  visit  — 
thank  you  for  the  invitation  —  but  I  must  decline  the 
honor.  I  am  a  soldier,  and  shall  soldier  it  till  I  die  —  am 
killed  or  wounded  —  dismissed  —  or  the  war  ends.  This  is 
no  half-way  work  with  me.  I  do  not  wish  to  taste  the 
pleasure  of  civil  life  till  my  work  is  done,  and  I  can  freely 
and  fully  indulge  without  expectation  of  returning  to  the 
field.  I  am  now  happy,  and  do  not  wish  to  do  anything 
to  render  my  situation  unpleasant,  which  emerging  into 
the  outer  world  might  do.  I  am  now  like  a  man  shut  out 
from  the  world,  and  since  I  have  become  so  used  to  this 
mode  of  life,  I  do  not  want  to  return  till  I  go  to  stay. 
20 


S.T,     \ 
[,  VA.,     ) 


154  APPENDIX. 

I  entered  this  struggle  with  my  whole  soul  —  forgetful 
of  aught  else.  I  always  had  a  veneration  for  the  old  flag. 
It  has  brought  tears  to  my  eyes  on  the  eve  of  many  a 
battle,  to  see  the  flag  bow  to  a  passing  general,  and  to  see 
him  so  gracefully  and  with  such  dignity  return  the  salute. 
Would  death  or  wounds  on  that  day  have  been  un- 
welcome ?  Would  the  gaping  cannon,  or  the  rattling 
musketry,  have  shaken  for  a  moment  my  resolution  ?  I 
am  not  my  own,  my  life  is  my  country's.  I  have  wedded 
her  cause,  and  all  else,  every  past  fault,  sorrow  and  regret, 
is  forgotten  —  buried  in  the  deepest,  darkest  oblivion,  by 
the  supreme  satisfaction  I  now  feel  —  the  happiness  I  now 
enjoy,  in  defending  the  flag  I  venerate,  in  serving  the 
country  I  love. 

I  know  my  patriotism  is  not  of  the  flashy  kind,  my  zeal 
not  effervescent.  It  is  substantial  — permanent  —  grow- 
ing. All  private  griefs  are  forgotten,  never  again  to  be 
revived.  I  die  in  the  service  or  come  out  a  new  man. 

No,  I  cannot  go  home,  even  if  I  knew  how  badly  you 
wanted  to  see  me.  I  do  know,  but  my  acts  shall  never 
belie  my  words.  I  feel,  talk,  and  shall  show  my  zeal 
whenever  I  see  a  rebel  in  arms  —  that  hideous  deformity 
of  human  nature  !  May  God  forgive  me  if  they  are 
brothers.  Truly  Yours, 

N.  0.  WENDELL. 

Such  words  could  never  have  been  written  or 
uttered  by  one  who  was  incapable  of  appreciating 
and  performing  his  responsibilities,  or  who  had 
left  his  heart  behind  him.  Though  first  enlisted 
as  a  private  in  the  44th,  he  was  soon  promoted  to 
a  Sergeant,  and  as  early  as  August,  1862,  he  ob- 
tained a  Captain's  Commission,  and  was  trans- 


APPENDIX.  155 

ferred  to  the  121st.  These  prompt  promotions 
were  the  reward  of  manifest  worth,  earned  by 
soldierly  deportment  — fervently  attested  to  by 
letters  of  condolence  to  his  kindred,  from  his 
surviving  comrades.  The  officer  subsequently  in 
command  of  Co.  F,  in  a  letter  to  Col.  Jacob 
Wendell,  under  date  "  Near  White  Oak  Church, 
Va.,  May  12,  1863,"  pays  the  following  tribute  : 
"  The  Captain  (your  brother)  fell  on  Sunday  afternoon, 
May  3d,  near  the  close  of  the  hottest  and  bloodiest  en- 
gagement of  this  desolating  war,  while  gallantly  leading 
and  cheering  on  his  valiant  little  band.  The  121st  played 
the  most  conspicuous  part  in  the  bloody  drama  of  the  day, 
but  all  the  laurels  won,  were  bought  by  the  lives  of  many 
a  hero  and  patriot  soldier.  I  did  not  observe  the  Captain 
at  the  moment  he  fell,  but  those  who  did,  take  pride  and 
pleasure  in  paying  to  his  gallantry  and  heroism  the  most 
distinguished  honor  and  praise.  He  fell,  cheering  his 
brave  men  on  to  more  glorious  achievements  for  their 
country,  doing  his  perilous  duty  like  a  true  patriot  and 
brave  soldier.  He  was  shot  through  the  head,  as  the 
battle  was  about  drawing  to  a  close,  and  was  doubtless 
instantly  killed.  *  *  *  His  death  has  shed  a  gloom 
over  the  whole  regiment;  a  bright  light  seems  to  have 
gone  out  forever  ;  a  kindly,  cheerful  voice  has  been  hushed 
in  the  solemn  silence  of  the  tomb,  and  more  than  five 
hundred  soldiers'  hearts  beat  heavily  in  view  of  his 
fate."  *  *  * 

Capt.  Jiio.  D.  Fish,  of  the  same  regiment,  thus 
concludes  a  letter  :  "In  the  tight,  he  showed  him- 


156  APPENDIX. 

self  brave,  gallant,  and  fell  while  fully  and  fear- 
lessly facing  the  foe." 

To  these  testimonials  might  be  added  many 
others,  equally  eulogistic.  But,  while  they  might 
be  gratifying  to  the  personal  friends,  they  are  not 
needed  to  embalm  the  heroic  conduct  of  the  de- 
parted, in  the  performance  of  a  noble  work,  like 
that  of  saving  our  glorious  Union.  Although 
"  man  dies,  his  memory  lives." 

II. 

MERITED  PROMOTION. —  We  are  permitted  to 
publish  a  letter  this  week  from  Nelson  O.  Wen- 
dell, a  late  private  in  the  44th  N".  Y.,  to  his 
brother,  Col.  "Wendell,  of  this  village.  The  ex- 
posure and  endurance  therein  set  forth,  as  well  as 
the  incidental  bravery,  have  been  more  than  con- 
firmed by  Col.  Rice,  commanding  the  Regiment. 
That  colonel  strongly  recommended  Mr.  Wendell 
to  the  governor  for  promotion,  upon  which  a 
Captain's  commission  was  issued  on  the  18th  of 
August,  but  was  notreceived  until  the  5th  instant. 
He  was  at  once  honorably  discharged  from  the 
44th,  and  transferred  to  lead  Co.  F,  121st  K  Y. 
Regiment,  commanded  by  Col.  Franchot. 

We  have  such  abiding  faith  in  the  policy  of 
taking  our  officers  from  the  ranks,  and  promoting 
those  whose  pluck  and  worth  have  been  demon- 
strated in  battle,  that  this  instance  of  favorable 
recognition  is  worthy  of  mention.  While  the  act 


APPENDIX.  157 

is  a  just  requital  of  merit,  it  also  acts  as  a  stimu- 
lant to  the  rank  and  file  whose  lives'are  perilled 
for  their  country.  We  are  therefore  glad  to  hear 
of  Mr.  Wendell's  good  luck,  and  know  that  he 
will  honor  the  commission  entrusted  to  him. 

CENTERYLLLE,  Va.,  Sept.  1, 1862. 
J.  WENDELL,  Esq., 

DEAR  BROTHER  :  I  have  time  and  strength  but  for  a 
few  words  ;  but  to  relieve  you  and  the  friends  of  unnec- 
essary uneasiness  on  my  account,  I  will  just  say  that, 
though  we  were  again  in  the  hottest  of  the  fight  on 
Saturday  the  30th  ult.,  I  am  out  of  it  safely  for  the  fifth 
time,  but  completely  exhausted  by  sickness,  exposure, 
long  and  rapid  marches,  and  continuous  skirmishing  and 
fighting  during  the  last  two  weeks.  But  there  is  no 
use  in  complaining ;  as  long  as  a  man  can  stand  up,  he 
must  do  his  duty ;  and  I  do  mine  most  cheerfully.  Our 
Reg't  (the  44th  N.  Y.  V.)  now  numbers  but  87  men  fit 
for  duty.  We  shall  probably  soon  retire  to  Washington, 
fresh  troops  taking  our  places.  Before  God,  my  con- 
science is  clear  in  having  done  my  whole  duty  to  my 
country.  Out  of  three  companies,  that  were  out  skirmish- 
ing, I  was  the  only  member  who  advanced  to  the  charge, 
with  the  Brigade  that  came  to  our  relief.  It  was  a 
desperate  fight,  and  a  disastrous  retreat.  May  God  have 
mercy  on  the  country.  I  verily  believe,  however,  that 
we  shall  soon  be  chasing  the  rebels  hotly  back  to  Rich- 
mond. 

I  remain  as  ever, 

Yours  for  the  Union, 

NELSON  0.  WENDELL. 


158  APPENDIX. 


III. 

WEST  BEND,  Wis.,  Aug.  25, 1861. 
NELSON  0.  WENDELL,  Esq., 

Ellsworth  Regiment,  Albany  Barracks,  N.  Y., 

DEAR  BROTHER  :  You  may  form  an  opinion  as  to  our 
surprise  on  learning  of  your  enlistment,  but  you  can 
scarcely  imagine  how  great  is  the  anxiety  felt  by  us  all, 
in  view  of  the  dangers  and  hardships  you  may  have  to 
encounter  and  endure,  and  which  must  almost  of  necessity 
fall  to  your  lot,  in  leading  the  life  of  a  soldier.  In  view  of 
these  stern  facts,  you  have  caused  a  shade  of  gloom  to 
cast  its  sombre  veil  over  the  hearts  of  your  many  friends, 
notwithstanding  the  conviction  we  all  have,  that  you  are 
but  doing  your  whole  duty.  We  all  fully  realize  the  im- 
portant necessity  for  every  one  of  the  brave  sons  of  our 
once  glorious  Union,  to  buckle  on  his  armor,  and  go  forth 
at  once  to  the  rescue  of  the  constitution,  her  laws,  her 
honor,  and  her  institutions,  and  to  labor,  toil,  suffer,  and 
perchance  to  die,  for  her  preservation.  Especially  is  it  a 
duty,  when  we  know  full  well  it  is  jeopardized  by  the 
dishonor  and  treachery  of  her  own  ungrateful  sons.  We 
honor  you  for  this  practical  evidence  of  your  loyalty  and 
courage,  in  this  her  hour  of  need,  and  that  you  love  your 
country,  and  are  ready  and  willing  to  defend  her  institu- 
tions before  any  and  every  other  consideration.  Hence 
I  cannot  wish  you  back,  although  my  heart  and  feelings 
oftentimes  sadly  rebel  against  my  sense  of  right  and 
justice. 

Now,  dear  brother,  when  you  think  of  your  far  off 
sister,  and  know  that  she  wishes  you  to  be  a  good  and 
brave  soldier,  think  also  what  would  be  her  feelings  should 


APPENDIX.  159 

you  by  rashness  or  carelessness  fall  on  the  field  of  battle. 
I  can  only  add,  God  bless  and  preserve  you,  and  return 
you  in  safety  to  your  friends  and  relatives ;  and  to  this 
end  rest  assured  that  you  shall  ever  have  the  prayers  of 
your  sister.  Most  affectionately, 

IMILDA  WENDELL. 


or 

Los  Angeles 


Form  L9-Series  4939 


PS3158,       W482M 


3  1158  00664  3240 


